The Problem With Secrets
by Jenksel
Summary: The darker a secret is, the more determined it is to make itself known.
1. Chapter 1

Cassandra carried the small, plain rosewood box into Jenkins's lab and approached the tall, elderly-looking man currently hunched over a microscope. She stood next to him and waited patiently for him to finish his work with whatever weird magical thing it was he was peering at, not wanting to startle him. After a couple of minutes, after making a little satisfied grunting sound over what he saw on the slide, he stood up, rubbing his eyes as he turned to the petite redhead.

"Ah, Cassandra," he greeted her warmly, a bright smile softening the serious expression his face normally wore. "How goes your spring cleaning?"

"Slow!" she sighed. "How on earth do you keep track of so much stuff? Every single space in your suite is crammed full of odds and ends!" She held up the box as if in proof of her complaint.

"But I did find something pretty interesting," she said, her voice taking on a tone of mystery.

"And what would that be, my dear?" he asked, amused by how excited Cassandra could become over the smallest things.

The Librarian opened the box and removed a small, book-like object covered by an ornately-tooled leather cover. Opening the book, she revealed to him a very old daguerreotype depicting a couple in mid-nineteenth century dress holding hands. Cassandra held it out to the Caretaker.

Jenkins looked at the picture. "Oh..." was all he said, quietly, his face blanching as he recognized the people in the picture.

The couple were both depicted in full-length. One was a tall, thin man who looked to be in his early 50's, though his face was still full and boyish-looking, with dark, mischievous eyes. He was immaculately dressed in a dark suit of trousers, waistcoat and a long frock coat, a silk, pinstriped cravat tied snugly around the stiff, high collar of his blindingly-white shirt. He had a thick, unruly shock of black hair, generously shot with gray, and neatly-trimmed long sideburns. It was a picture of a younger Jenkins.

The other figure in the photograph was a shorter, young woman. She wore a dark gown with a large plaid pattern and velvet trimming, with long, form-fitting sleeves and an impossibly narrow waist. Her long, smooth black hair was parted in the middle and pulled into a low bun at the back, with fashionable 'spaniel curls' framing her pale face. She wore a small, frilly lace cap on her head. She had wide, dark eyes that, even in the rather stiff, formal portrait, reflected warmth and liveliness. Jenkins was offering her a gardenia blossom as they held hands. The pair were looking into each other's eyes and smiling gently at each other; they were clearly a couple in love.

"Where did you find this?" Jenkins asked sharply, eyes like blank stones.

"In that giant old bookcase in your sitting room," Cassandra chattered, taking no notice of his reaction. "There's a long braided lock of black hair in the box, too; I'm guessing it's hers? You look very handsome in that picture, by the way. Who is she?"

"It doesn't matter," he said, a warning tone in his voice. He snapped the cover shut over the portrait and tossed it carelessly onto the table. "It's just a useless bit of junk. I'll get rid of it after I finish my work here."

Perplexed, Cassandra reached for the portrait; the Caretaker shot out his hand and seized her wrist. Cassandra cried out in pain and alarm. "Ow! Jenkins! You're hurting me!"

The large man let go of her immediately, a look of contrition flashing across his face. "I'm sorry, Cassandra," he apologized. "I...Please, just leave it, I'll take care of it myself later."

The Librarian rubbed her wrist, her face bewildered and concerned. "Jenkins, what's wrong? You can tell..."

"Let it go, Cassandra!" he snapped, shouting angrily, his face darkening. "Just let it go! Just because you're a Librarian and I allow you to share my bed on occasion, that doesn't give you license to pry into my personal affairs! I'll decide what you need to know and when you need to know it! Despite what you may think, you simply do NOT have to know everything!"

Shocked by his sharp words, Cassandra could only stare at him at first, mouth hanging open. "You ALLOW me to share...?" she whispered in disbelief. "YOU'LL decide...?" Then the clear blue eyes clouded with anger of their own. She reached out and snatched up the portrait before Jenkins could react, and after a final glare, she spun around and left the lab without another word.

"Cassandra!" Jenkins had regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth; everything had come out completely wrong. The portrait had caught him off-guard and badly rattled him. He stripped off his lab coat and hurried after the angry young woman. He caught up with her in the workroom, where Eve Baird and the other Librarians were huddled over a large book. The Caretaker grabbed Cassandra's arm and turned her around to face him.

"Cassandra, please! I'm sorry!"

The furious redhead drew her hand back and slapped him across the face—hard. Jenkins, caught completely by surprise, recoiled at the blow and staggered back a couple of steps, eyes blinking in astonishment as his hand went automatically to his stinging face. Eve and the others gaped in stunned silence at the scene.

"You keep your hands off of me! And don't you EVER speak to me like that again!" she hissed with barely-contained venom, her eyes boring into those of the taller man. "I am NOT your whore! You DON'T decide things for me!"

Jenkins recovered from his shock. "I never said that!" he thundered, his own anger rising again. "I never called you that! And I've never tried to control you!"

"Yes, you did!" she screamed back, her blue eyes blazing. "'I ALLOW you to share my bed'! 'I will decide what you need to know'! Seriously?! Just where the hell do you get off talking to me like that? I thought we were a couple, that we were equals! I thought you loved me! But clearly I just didn't know my proper place around here—which apparently is on my back!"

Jenkins struggled to keep his temper under control. "Cassandra, my dear, please..." he began, his voice tense.

Cassandra had turned to leave the room, but upon hearing his words she whirled around and flew back to the much larger man, getting as close as she could without actually touching him and craning her head up to glare into his face.

"Oh, so NOW I'm 'my dear'?" she spat, giving full vent to her hurt feelings. "I'm not just a nosy Librarian now? Not just some uppity concubine prying into your precious private affairs?"

Jenkins visibly flinched at her words and the anger behind them. He glanced around uncomfortably, realizing now that there were others in the room with them.

"Perhaps we should continue this discussion in private...?" he suggested tightly.

"FUCK YOU!" she shouted. "Don't you dare tell me where and when I can speak! And you still haven't answered my question—Who is this woman?" She waved the portrait so close to his face that Jenkins involuntarily backed away a step.

"Another one of your stupid, never-ending secrets!" she continued to tear into him. "You have more secrets than..." She waved her hands frantically in front of herself, struggling for an appropriate simile. "Than Kellogg's has corn flakes! They're like land mines planted all over this damn Library, and I'm forever tripping over them!"

"I AM allowed a private life, you know!" the Caretaker bellowed back, his patience almost gone. "I didn't mean the other things I said, but I DID mean it when I told you that you do NOT have to know EVERYTHING!"

"OH, yeah, that's right—You NEVER want to talk about them, either, THAT'S what's so damn infuriating! I'm just supposed to live with all of these secrets and ghosts from your past, you expect me to just ignore them and tip-toe around them and keep my mouth shut and not ask about them at all! Really?! I suppose you would just ignore a picture of me with some strange guy if you came across it, huh?"

"No, I wouldn't, Miss Cillian, and do you know why?" sneered Jenkins. "Because I wouldn't be snooping around your room LOOKING for something untoward in the first place! Because I respect YOUR privacy!"

Flynn started to get up; this was getting uglier by the second and he wanted to put a stop to it, but Eve put her hand on his arm, silently warning him to stay put. She was watching the feuding pair carefully.

Cassandra angrily jabbed a finger in the Caretaker's direction, eyes narrowed and her voice low and threatening. "Oh, you SO better NOT be calling me a snoop...!"

"You said it yourself, my dear," Jenkins spat out the endearment as though it was something foul in his mouth. "You're a very nosy Librarian!"

With an almost feral growl coming from the back of her throat, the redhead launched herself at the immortal, drawing her hand back to strike him again. Eve jumped up from her chair and was instantly between the two combatants. She grabbed Cassandra's wrists and tried to draw the woman's focus away from Jenkins. "Cassandra! Stop! That's enough!"

Jake and Ezekiel had quietly slipped from their own chairs and were behind Jenkins, just in case they needed to restrain the older man, but Jenkins simply stood still, hands clenched tightly into huge fists at his sides.

Cassandra wrestled away from Baird's grip and backed away from the Guardian, rubbing her wrists against her sides. Eve positioned herself so that she could see both Cassandra and Jenkins at the same time.

"WHAT is going on here?" she demanded.

The young Librarian tossed her head at the older man. "Ask him," she said acidly. "I don't want to be accused of sticking my nose into any more of his goddamned personal affairs!"

With that, she hurled the portrait across the room, turned on her heel and ran from the workroom without another word. Her steps echoed down the corridor leading the front entry of the Annex, and a few seconds later they all heard the distant slam of the heavy steel door.

The bewildered Guardian turned to the stone-faced Caretaker. "Jenkins?"

But the older man remained silent as he turned away from her and stalked back to his lab, shoulders hunched and head lowered.

##

 **NB: This is a multi-chapter story; I will update regularly. Thank you for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

Cassandra walked quickly along the jogging path through the park that surrounded the Annex, her red head down and not paying any attention to where she was going. She fought back tears as the harsh, cutting words she and Jenkins had hurled at each other echoed in her head. Now that she'd had some time to cool off, she was mortified by her behavior and very much regretted everything she had said and done. How could she have lost her temper like that, and with Jenkins, of all people? To the point of _slapping_ him? What had she been thinking?! The shocked, hurt look in his eyes after she struck him was seared into her memory.

Although she was calmer and thinking more clearly now, she was still torn between her feelings of remorse for her actions and her still-smoldering anger at the Caretaker's behavior towards her. The remark about 'just sharing a bed' stung her more than anything else. She thought he loved her as much as she loved him. The thought that he'd just been using her for sex made her feel sick.

She hugged her arms close to her body as she rapidly marched on. All of those times he said that he loved her—had he been lying to her this whole time? The few stories from his past that he had shared with he, were those just to make her feel sorry for him and trick her into his bed? Were they even true stories? Had he simply manipulated her for his own purposes?

Cassandra shook her head as she sped along. NO—she refused to believe that. He was Sir Galahad, after all. Unless that was a lie, too. They only had his word for that, didn't they? Well, Morgan Le Fae sort of confirmed the truth of his real identity, but maybe she was in on the con with him somehow. But if he had been lying, surely she or one of the others would've picked up on it long before now?

The agitated young woman took a deep breath and exhaled loudly as she walked. _Calm down, Cillian_ , she told herself. _You're letting your imagination run away with you_. Jenkins had _plenty_ of flaws, but she knew in her heart that he never lied, and he would certainly _never_ lie about how he felt about her. Honor meant everything to Jenkins; he would never treat her in such a dishonorable way.

But then again, she didn't exactly have the greatest record when it came to picking men. Her parents were always cold and distant towards her, even more so after she was diagnosed with the tumor. Cassandra couldn't even remember the last time one of them had hugged her. Not very socially adept, she'd never been able to make any real friends when she was younger; nobody wanted to be friends with the math nerd. By the time she dropped out of school she was so starved for affection and attention she made easy prey for the users and manipulators of the world. Like Rich.

Cassandra shuddered involuntarily as she remembered her ex-boyfriend. He _was_ the one who insisted on controlling _every_ aspect of her life, from the second she woke up in the morning until the second she fell asleep at night. Rich was the one who DID call her a whore, all of the time. Who treated her like a whore. Who decided what she wore, what she ate, who she could speak to, where she went and for how long she could stay. Who almost had her completely brainwashed into thinking that she was worthless and undesirable because of her tumor, that she was a freak of nature because of her synesthesia and her gift with mathematics. He told her constantly that she should be thanking her lucky stars that he was willing to put up with her, because no one else would. And she had been willing to put up with Rich and his abuse, because she thought that was the best she could expect. No, it wasn't the ideal, fairy-tale romance she'd dreamed of as a little girl, but it was better than nothing, better than being alone, right?

That's what she thought, anyway, until that night he came home drunk from the bar.

Cassandra began feeling a tightness in her chest as she remembered that night. Rich and that scumbag friend of his that he brought home with him. What Rich wanted her to do. The screaming, the cursing, the pain of the blows he rained down on her when she refused. The absolute terror.

The distraught woman's vision blurred as she tried to blink back fresh tears. She was lucky, she was able to get out of that relationship relatively unscathed. Rich hadn't made it easy, but she got away from him in the end. She fought back and she got out, she survived. But there were still times when her anger, hurt and resentment surfaced, even after all this time. Like today, she realized suddenly—when Jenkins said that he allowed her to share his bed and he would decide things. He unknowingly triggered all of those old fears, the still deeply-felt rage and the hatred she felt for Rich, and she lashed out blindly at him.

 _Poor Jenkins_ , she thought miserably. He was as different from Rich as day is from night, he hadn't deserved to be treated like that. And she hadn't meant to pry, she was only curious about the portrait and the woman in it. Knowing the immortal as she did, she knew there had to be an incredible story behind it. But, on the other hand, Jenkins was right—he did have a right to some privacy. If the roles had been reversed, and Jenkins had found a picture of her with Rich and asked her about it out of the blue, she wouldn't have liked it, either. _I have to apologize to him. I have to make this up to him, somehow…_

Cassandra was rudely pulled from her reverie by a painful blow to her shoulder. Startled out of her dark memories, the young woman stopped in her tracks and began to rub her arm as she looked up, surprised to see a tall, skinny man in his mid-20's standing in front of her, glaring at her with glazed, hazel-colored eyes. He had long, greasy-looking brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and his clothes were disheveled and stank. His scruffy face was peppered with small sores, and what teeth he had left were rotten and broken. Cassandra immediately recognized he was an addict of some kind, probably meth. Then she noticed that he had a short folding knife in one hand.

"Gimme your money and your phone!" he barked.

Momentarily stunned, Cassandra only stared at him. He reached out with his free hand and slapped her sharply in the face. She cried out, her hand going to her cheek where he had struck her as she struggled to retain her balance. "I said, gimme your money, _now_!"

"I...I don't have any money! Or a phone. I...I didn't bring anything with me..." she stuttered, frightened now. She quickly looked around for anyone who could help her, but they were alone. She turned back to her attacker, beginning to panic. "Don't hurt me! I don't have anything, I swear...!"

"Shut up, bitch!" he hissed angrily. He struck out and smashed Cassandra's face again, this time with his fist. She fell to the ground with a yelp of surprise, the side of her head striking the pavement as she landed, her vision going dim. She struggled to get up, but the man kicked her savagely in the ribcage. She gasped loudly as she felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her side, but she stayed down, instinctively curling into the fetal position as she tried to protect her body. She felt the man frisking her as he searched for a concealed wallet or cell phone.

The feel of the thug's unwanted hands on her body caused a cold anger to suddenly flare up inside of her. Without thinking of any potential consequences, Cassandra balled her right hand into a fist, rolled over onto her back and, with a loud shriek of fury, punched the would-be thief in the crotch as hard as she could. The thief cried out and bent double in pain, then started swearing at her. He kicked at her again, this time striking her in the hip, before he stumbled off.

The injured woman lay on the ground, too dazed and frightened now to try to get up again. With every breath she took, agonizing pain stabbed her in the side where she had been kicked. She lay still for several minutes, until she was sure the mugger was gone, then she gingerly began to push herself upright with shaking arms. Pain and dizziness overcame her, however, and she slumped slowly back to the pavement.


	3. Chapter 3

Jenkins marched back his lab and dropped into the hard wooden chair at his work table, a headache pounding the inside of his skull like a blacksmith's hammer. _What just happened here?_ he wondered in dismay. How did things go so badly between him and Cassandra so quickly? He'd never before seen Cassandra so... _enraged_. It had frightened him a little to see her so infuriated. He rubbed his cheek where the fiery redhead had struck him; he would never forget that look of pure hatred in her eyes. He propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands, utterly miserable. _Why_ had she become so angry?

 _Don't try to blame Cassandra for this mess, you ass, this is all YOUR fault!_ He hadn't meant to shout at her like that, he hadn't meant to give the impression that he was trying to control her or her life. All he'd said was that he had a right to some privacy. _It was the WAY you said it_. And he certainly hadn't meant to imply that he was just using her as his sexual plaything. _Yet you chose THE worst possible words to express that._ How could she even think such a vile thing of him? The portrait had taken him completely by surprise. _That's no excuse!_ It had been years since he last saw it. He'd almost been able to forget that he even had it until today.

And why on earth did he still have it in the first place? Why hadn't he gotten rid of that damnable box and its contents years ago? Why did he keep holding onto it? _To remind yourself of what you really are,_ he answered himself harshly. _To remind you of how others are made to pay for your mistakes._

Did everything in his past have to be a secret? He had so many shameful things on his conscious—he'd forgotten more of them by now than Cassandra could ever commit in her entire lifetime. The sins that he remembered, though, were the worst ones. He feared sharing them with anyone, let alone Cassandra. Right now, he was her 'knight in shining armor', that he was brave and noble and that he could do no wrong. But he knew better. He had done plenty of wrong in his long life, and deep down inside he was terrified that if she learned what he was really was, she would be so disgusted that she would want nothing more to do with him.

Secrets like the story behind the daguerreotype.

That's where his anger had come from today, he realized. It came out of his fear of losing Cassandra, of driving her away. For the immortal, it was a nearly unbearable thought. He'd held himself aloof from human company for so long, had given up on the possibilities of love and companionship long ago. He'd grown used to loneliness, built up the necessary walls around himself, shut off those parts of his soul. He had resigned himself to being alone for the rest of his unnatural life.

And then the librarians had dropped into his life, almost literally; _she_ had dropped into his life, like a stone dropped into a stagnant pond. He never had a chance. He'd fallen so fast and so hard for her, loved her so much now; Jenkins would rather be flayed alive than lose her.

But was it right to build a relationship with her under such false pretenses? Didn't she have the right to decide who she wanted to be with, to establish her own terms and conditions for what she would tolerate and what she wouldn't tolerate in a relationship? By keeping secrets like this from her, wasn't he simply deceiving her by omission? Wasn't he, at the heart of it all, just being a coward?

He closed his eyes and slumped back in the uncomfortable chair as twin waves of grief and remorse washed over him. Of course she deserved to know, and he _was_ being a coward. If he truly loved her as much as he said he did, then he needed to be truthful with her. She had a right to the truth.

He had to make this right with Cassandra. He would wait another hour or so to let her anger die down, then he would go to her and apologize. Tell her the truth.

Eve Baird burst into the lab, a look of concern darkening her features. A cold lump instantly formed in the pit of the Caretaker's stomach as he sat upright.

"Jenkins! I just got a call from the hospital." The lump instantly turned into a boulder.

"Cassandra..." he whispered, his brown eyes widening in fear. The Guardian hurried over and put a reassuring hand on his arm. He immediately jumped up from his chair, completely alarmed now.

"Some guy tried to mug her in the park near here," Eve said quickly, carefully keeping her tone neutral so as not to distress Jenkins even more. "A jogger found her in the park not far from here and called 911. She's in the emergency room right now. Flynn's already got a door dialed up, he and the guys are already there by now. Let's go."

##########

The Guardian and the Caretaker emerged from a stairwell doorway a short distance away from the waiting area of Portland Mercy Hospital. Flynn, Jake and Ezekiel were already there, sitting together in the bustling waiting area in an unhappy huddle, faces lined with worry. Jenkins and Eve rushed to join them.

"How is she? What happened? Is she hurt badly? Have you seen a doctor yet? How soon can we see her?" The words practically tripped over each other as they spilled from Jenkins's lips.

Flynn stood up and put his hands on the shoulders of the older man, giving him a weak smile as the Librarian tried to allay his fears. "It's okay, Jenkins, she's okay. She was awake when they brought her in, she was able to give the staff Eve's number and have them call her, even talked to the police for a little bit. That says a lot right there!" Flynn's smile faded as he realized that Jenkins wasn't buying it. The younger man sighed and gave Jenkins a sympathetic look.

"Okay, look—Everything I just said is true, but we haven't actually seen Cassandra or anyone else yet, Jenkins. As soon as the doctor is finished they'll be out to give us an update. Until then, all we can do right now is wait."

The Caretaker ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Wait. All they can do is wait. Jenkins's memory flashed back to the last time they were in a hospital waiting for word on Cassandra. At least that time he'd had a chance to see her, speak a few heartfelt, gentle words to her, tell her he loved her, hold her hand for a few precious seconds.

But this time his last words to her were harsh and hurtful, his last sight of her had been of her face twisted with anger and contempt for him, their last physical contact had been violent and painful. Flynn said she was all right, but what if something unexpected happened while she was being examined? What if the doctor missed something? What if she had sustained an injury to her still-healing brain? Something that later proved to be fatal? He closed his eyes as one hand unconsciously covered his mouth, guilt, fear and dread churning sickeningly inside of him.

Jenkins walked out of the waiting area and slipped into a stairwell. He needed to be alone right now, and the stairwell was quiet. He dropped wearily onto a step. He wished he had a good, stiff cup of tea.

On top of everything else, now this! It was his fault that she had been out there in the park, all alone, when she was attacked. A time when she needed him the most, and he hadn't been there for her. If something happened to Cassandra before he could see her again, talk to her, tell her how sorry he was—he didn't know how he would ever be able to live with himself. Leaning forward, he let his still-throbbing head drop into his hands and closed his eyes, a loud, helpless sob slipping from him without permission.

He heard the stairwell door open behind him. Jenkins quickly pulled himself together before he turned to face the newcomer. He was surprised to see Eve Baird standing there, her face full of sympathy. She went to the unhappy man, sat down next to him and put her arm around him. She laid her head on his shoulder as she pulled from her jacket pocket the daguerreotype portrait that Cassandra had thrown and held it out to him. "I found this after you left the workroom. Thought you might want it back."

With a sigh Jenkins took it from her and opened it. Incredibly, the glass protecting the photograph was unbroken. Eve stroked his arm lightly as she looked down at the old picture.

"Looks like the past has come back to haunt you," she joked gently, hoping to tease a smile from him.

"Indeed," was all he said flatly, a slight quaver in his low voice.

"She's going to be all right, Jenkins, don't worry," she murmured, just loudly enough for him to hear her.

"And you and Cassandra will be okay, too. Just you wait—you'll be kissing and making up in no time."

Jenkins turned his head to look at the tall blonde. "I wish I was as certain of that as you are, Colonel Baird."

Eve took the portrait from his hand and studied the striking couple in it. Cassandra was right about one thing: The old Caretaker certainly had plenty of secrets. The woman in the picture was clearly an old love of his. Though the portrait was formally posed in the manner of the day, the younger Jenkins still radiated happiness, the same kind of happiness Eve saw now whenever he was around Cassandra.

"Jenkins, I don't know who this woman is or what she was to you or why you and Cassandra fought about her, but I do know this: You and Cassandra love each other too much not to make up. You love each other too much for this—" She held up the daguerreotype. "—to come between you."

The Guardian gave the anxious immortal a warm hug. "Besides, all couples have fights and spats from time to time—just look at me and Flynn, we fight like cats and dogs sometimes! It's just part of the process. This is just the first of hundreds, _thousands_ , of fights and arguments and disagreements you and Cassandra will have throughout your lives together."

Jenkins sighed deeply as he took the portrait back from Baird and slipped it into his coat pocket. He turned his head to give her his best sour look, even as a tiny smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. The older man then let his head rest lightly against the top of hers as he uncharacteristically placed his arm around Eve and returned her hug.

"Good pep talk, Colonel. Thank you."


	4. Chapter 4

"Eve Baird?"

Two hours and a small mountain of insurance and hospital paperwork later, a doctor finally came to the waiting area to give them an update on Cassandra's condition. By that time Jenkins was pacing like a caged tiger, and as soon as he heard the petite African-American woman in the white coat call Colonel Baird's name, he nearly knocked over everyone else in his haste to get to her.

The doctor gave the apprehensive group a quick synopsis of what had happened to Cassandra in the park, and informed them that since Cassandra had been struck in the head, she likely had a very mild concussion. Her ribs and hip were bruised from having been kicked by the perpetrator, but the doctor felt confident that no permanent physical harm had been done, and that the Librarian would make a full recovery with plenty of rest and time.

A few minutes later a nurse led Cassandra out to her anxious friends, and Jenkins was heartsick at the sight of the battered young woman. Her left eye and cheek were swollen and beginning to purple nastily, and there was a deep scrape on her forehead where her head had hit the pavement. He could tell that the injury to her side caused her pain with every breath she took. The rest of her face, with all of her cosmetics removed, was alarmingly pale, but she managed to smile wanly as soon as she saw everyone waiting for her.

As the others clustered around her in an excited knot, Jenkins hung back, suddenly unsure of himself and of how welcome a sight he would be to her right now. His worry was unfounded, though; as soon as Cassandra saw him she held out her arms to him, tears springing to her pale eyes. He didn't even realize that he had been holding his breath until then. Jenkins, nearly weeping with relief, rushed to her as the other librarians discreetly cleared a path for him. Mindful of her injured ribs, his long arms gently encircled her shoulders as he held her, kissing her uninjured cheek in a rare public display of affection towards her.

"I'm so sorry, Cassandra," he whispered huskily into her ear. "This is all my fault! I'm so sorry I wasn't there when you needed me!"

"It's okay," she whispered back, giving him a quick squeeze despite the pain it caused in her ribs. "It _wasn't_ your fault. I'm just as much to blame…"

He made a soft hushing sound as he released her and looked down with sober eyes into her pale face. "Let's go home now, my love. When you're feeling better, we'll talk."

At that point, Jenkins's nurturing nature took over. He placed his hands lightly beneath her elbow and at the small of her back as he escorted her carefully down the hallway towards the location of the Annex portal. Her adopted family crowded around the pair, their relief just as palpable as Jenkins's had been, joked with her and wished her well as they all walked slowly along the hallway. When the coast was clear, everyone stepped through the door and entered the warm, familiar surroundings of the Annex workroom.

He immediately ushered the injured young woman to his suite. He helped her to undress and brought out one of his pajama tops for her to slip into. He winced inwardly at the ugly bruises that were beginning to mar the porcelain skin on Cassandra's side and hipbone where she had been kicked as he helped her into the large bed and carefully tucked her in. He stood there for a moment staring at her, as though considering something before speaking.

"Now, you wait here—do _not_ get out of that bed, young woman! I'll be back in a moment," he firmly instructed, then left the room. After a few minutes he returned, carrying a small, yellow, cut-crystal bottle. He sat on the edge of the mattress, unstopped the bottle and held it out to her. Cassandra caught the familiar, sweet odor of a healing potion.

"Take just a small sip of this, my dear," he directed her. "It's a very powerful healing elixir, you only need a small amount." Cassandra obeyed, and she immediately felt a soft, quicksilver warmth spread throughout her body as she swallowed the potion; it tasted like pale yellow sunshine to her mind. The Caretaker took the bottle and replaced the stopper, then placed it on the nightstand.

"There," he murmured softly. "Now, just lie back and go to sleep, let the potion do its work. When you wake up tomorrow you'll feel much better." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, his hand gently caressing her uninjured cheek at the same time, then stood up to leave.

"Jenkins, wait!" she called out. "I want to apologize..."

Jenkins turned back, held a hand up and shook his head gently, giving her a tiny smile. "Hush, my love; you need rest now. The potion will make you sleep soon. There will be plenty of time for us to talk tomorrow."

The Caretaker slipped quietly from the room, and within moments of the door closing behind him, she was fast asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Cassandra awoke late the next morning, feeling very much restored. She yawned and stretched the entire length of her body, noticing that the ache in her head was barely noticeable, and that she could breathe freely now without pain stabbing her in the side. As she pushed herself up into a sitting position, she saw the sleeping Jenkins slumped in an armchair he had pulled up beside the bed, an open book askew in his lap.

"Jenkins?" she said softly. Instantly his eyes were open and he was upright in the chair, the book falling to the floor, forgotten.

"Cassandra! Are you all right? How do you feel?"

"I feel great! The pain's almost totally gone," she assured him, then eyed him quizzically. "Why did you sleep in that chair? Why didn't you come to bed?"

"I didn't want to risk waking you during the night. The potion works best while one is asleep," he said. He dropped his eyes. "I also didn't want to presume..."

An uneasy look dimmed his features during the awkward silence that followed. Checking his watch distractedly, Jenkins suddenly stood and stretched stiffly, several joints crackling softly as he did. "You stay here, my dear; I'll bring you some breakfast. It's almost noon now, you must be feeling very hungry." He turned and quickly left the room before she could say anything.

The Librarian slipped out of bed and trotted to the bathroom. She pulled off the pajama top and examined herself in the large mirror, wrinkling her nose at the sight. The potion had almost totally healed all of the bruises, and her face looked nearly normal again; she had to look closely to see the faint, thin outline of the black eye. The scrape was completely gone. Then she noticed her dull-looking skin and her limp, oily hair—ugh! She desperately needed a long, hot shower. She turned on the water, and when it was ready eagerly stepped into the soothing stream of hot water, luxuriating in the feel of the water, soap and shampoo as it washed away the unpleasantness of the previous day.

When she was finished and dried off, she put the pajama top back on and wrapped her wet hair in a fresh towel. Going back into the bedroom, Cassandra found Jenkins patiently waiting for her there, a large bed tray laden with hot tea and covered dishes of food. She smelled bacon and eggs and suddenly felt ravenous.

"Oh, Jenkins, that smells wonderful!" she enthused, climbing back into the large bed and settling in as the immortal carefully placed the tray in front of her and poured tea. She began devouring the food with gusto as Jenkins sank back into the armchair and watched quietly.

She soon noticed that he wasn't eating. "Don't you want some?" she asked between mouthfuls.

"I've already eaten," he fibbed. The truth was that his stomach was in knots in anticipation of the conversation that was to come.

They chatted about inconsequential things while she ate, the uneasy tension between them growing heavier again with each passing minute. When she was done with breakfast, he removed the tray and set it on the nearby coffee table. He dropped back into the armchair, and Cassandra noticed for the first time how tired he looked. Knowing Jenkins as well as she did by now, she knew he had sat up with her all last night, probably hadn't eaten a thing since breakfast yesterday morning, either. He was still wearing the suit he had on the day before, and she was suddenly filled with guilt.

"Jenkins, I'm so sorry for yesterday, I just feel awful!" she blurted. He began to protest, but she stopped him. "No! Let me finish, please, okay?" He fell silent and waited for her to continue, his hands clasped in his lap.

"I'm sorry," she repeated remorsefully. "I shouldn't have said such horrible things to you. And I shouldn't have hit you, either. I totally overreacted to what you said. I didn't mean to pry into your personal life, either. I wasn't snooping, I swear—I was just cleaning and I only opened the box to see if anything important was in it. I saw the picture and the lock of hair, and I just...I just was curious, that's all."

Jenkins shook his head in protest. "I know you weren't snooping, Cassandra; I shouldn't have accused you of that..." he said quickly.

Cassandra waved her hands to interrupt him, and dropped her eyes. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves as she prepared herself for what she had to tell him.

"In fact, I realize now that I was being a hypocrite. Here I am yelling at you for keeping secrets, and this whole time I've been keeping secrets of my own from you." She sighed and began twisting the bedsheet in her fingers nervously, then forged ahead.

"I've told you already about my bad luck with men in the past. I had several bad boyfriends when I was younger, real losers. Most guys took off as soon as they heard the word 'tumor'. The ones who stayed were worse, though. There was one guy in particular, his name was Richard—Rich." She shrugged her thin shoulders.

"It's the classic 'abused woman story', I guess. After I was diagnosed and dropped out of school, I left home. My parents didn't care about me anymore, not that they cared about me all that much before the tumor, really. All they cared about was my success and the attention it brought _them_. I guess I was so lonely and so desperate for someone to love _me_ , I fell for the first smooth-talker who came along. Rich was really nice at first; he complimented me, bought me presents, told me I was pretty, stuff like that." Cassandra kept her eyes locked on her hands in her lap, too ashamed to look at Jenkins, too afraid of what she might see in his eyes.

"But then he started to change. He became possessive, he always wanted to know what I was doing, where I was, who I was with. He was awful about it. If I didn't come home at exactly the time I said I would be there, he accused me of cheating on him, called me a whore. He would tell me I was worthless and stupid and ugly, told me I was a freak because of my math gifts and my synesthesia. He used to tell me that I was lucky to have him, because no other man would want a 'stupid fucking ugly freak whore' like me." She shrugged her shoulders again. "And I started to believe him."

Cassandra's voice was small and sad as she recalled those painful, hard days. Jenkins sat quietly, motionlessly, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, the look on his face a mixture of sadness, distress and anger as he listened. As she continued to speak, Cassandra's voice grew weaker and shakier with emotion.

"One night he came home late, completely drunk, again, but this time he had a friend with him. I was in bed, already asleep. He came into the bedroom and grabbed me by my hair, just dragged me out of bed. I didn't know what was going on. He was so…cold-hearted. He told me it was time for me to earn my keep."

Jenkins began to go numb with dread as he listened to Cassandra's terrible story. He had a sickening feeling where this was going, and he prayed that he was wrong.

"He dragged me out into the front room, where his friend was. He told me...he told me I had to..." Cassandra's trembling hand covered her mouth, as if the words she wanted to speak were too awful to be spoken aloud. Jenkins moved from the chair to sit next to the shaking woman, taking her hand and holding it tightly.

"You don't have to tell me this if you don't want to, Cassandra," he murmured softly. She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand back.

"Yes, I do," she said, glancing quickly at his face, the librarian's eyes welling with tears. She saw nothing but concern and pain in his.

"He told me I had to have sex with his friend," she began spilling out the story quickly, before she lost her nerve. "His friend was going to give him a hundred dollars for it. I…I couldn't believe it—he was actually going to _pimp me out_ to this guy! He said I had to do it, if I expected to keep staying there, I had to do it. But I refused. Rich got so angry, angrier than I'd ever seen him before. He started yelling at me, said I was being disrespectful. He started punching me, said he was going to teach me a lesson, he was going to teach me to do what I was told. He pulled his belt out of his pants and started hitting me with it. And the other guy just sat there, laughing. Making fun of Rich for not being able to 'control his bitch'".

Cassandra started to cry, but she continued to speak. Now that she had started, she wanted to get the whole ugly thing out of her. All Jenkins could do was hold onto her and listen.

"I tried to get away from him, but he just kept chasing me through the apartment, and every time he caught me he would hit me SO hard. I was afraid, REALLY afraid, that he was going to kill me. I remember running into the kitchen and grabbing a knife from the drawer. I told him to stay away from me, but he wouldn't—he just wouldn't. He said that no dumb slut like me was going to tell him what to do, and he came at me…" She couldn't go on. Tears were dripping from her face by now. Jenkins silently reached his hand out to gently caress her wet cheek.

"What happened, Cassandra?" he asked quietly. It was like a dagger to his heart to hear such a disgusting story. Everything fiber of his being wanted only to find this animal and thrash him within an inch of his miserable life for what he had done to his beloved librarian. He didn't want to hear another word of this story, but it was important to Cassandra to tell him about it.

"He was yelling at me and hitting me with the belt, punching me. He was screaming at me, calling me a dumb cunt and said that I should be more grateful to him for allowing me to live in his house, eat his food, sleep in his bed." She glanced nervously at Jenkins and saw by the stricken look on his face that he had made the connection.

"I...I stabbed him," she whispered. "More than once."

Jenkins took a deep, silent breath at the stunning revelation. "Did you kill him, Cassandra?"

She looked up at him, her blues eyes now red with crying, wide and pleading for understanding. Her voice was barely a whisper, full of fear, when she answered him.

"No. I _wanted_ to, though. I _tried_ to, but all I did was hurt him, badly. He almost died, but he pulled through." Cassandra's face crumpled and she started sobbing uncontrollably. "I was so scared..."

Jenkins silently gathered her into his arms and held her close as she wept. Cassandra kept talking, forcing her words through near-hysterical half-sobs in her desire to get everything out.

"When you said those things yesterday, it brought back all of those memories. It was like I was suddenly in that apartment again, listening to him screaming at me, feeling afraid that I was going to get hurt again—that _you_ might get mad enough to hit me, and something inside of me just said 'No! I'm not going to put up with this again!' I just wanted it all to stop and to get away," she choked out. She tightened her arms around him, clinging to him like a frightened child and nearly wailing now.

"But you're nothing like him, Jenkins! I didn't mean to treat you as though you were! I know you love me, I _know_ you do, and I am so sorry! I don't know what I would do without you! Please don't be angry with me, Jenkins! I'm so sorry! Please don't hate me!" She began crying so hard that she could no longer speak. She buried her face in the Caretaker's broad chest and wept.

Jenkins closed his eyes in anguish and tightened his arms around her, holding her close as she cried. He gently pulled the bulky towel from her head and began stroking her damp hair, murmuring assurances to her and kissing her head as he numbly tried to comfort her.

"I'm not angry with you. And I don't hate you, my love, I could _never_ hate you," he whispered hoarsely to her as she sobbed, his heart breaking for her. "I could never hate you. I could never raise my hand against you, either, my love. I would cut it off first!"

As she cried herself out, he belatedly remembered the handkerchief in his pocket and clumsily dug it out for her. She sat back in the bed as she wiped the tears from her face and blew her nose. He continued to stroke her hair, pausing occasionally to finger strands of it while myriad emotions ran through him. He felt immeasurable pain for her that she had nearly taken a life in order to protect her own; he knew exactly what kind of a toll that could take on a person's spirit, even if it _was_ justified. He was horror-struck and sickened by what she had experienced; she never mentioned having any other serious relationships with men in her life before, and he had foolishly assumed that he was the first. It made him literally dizzy with rage that any man could treat someone as kind and giving as Cassandra so brutally.

He held her for a long time, saying nothing, eventually falling into a gentle rocking motion as he tried to soothe her. He lightly brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I am so very sorry for what you had to go through, Cassandra. I'm so sorry," he said softly, helplessly. "I'm so very sorry for bringing all of that back to you. I wish there was something I could do to take it all away!" The troubled immortal spoke quietly but vehemently to the miserable young woman in his arms.

"I should never have spoken to you as harshly as I did yesterday, and I bitterly regret it. Those were stupid things for me to say and I wish to all the gods that I could take them back. We ARE partners, we are equals—you're NOT my concubine or my whore, I'm not just using you, not for anything, I swear it. You are the most important thing in my life, Cassandra Cillian. You're the queen of my heart, and I love you _so_ _very_ much."

She smiled weakly at his courtly words. When she looked at him, the expression on his face was so serious, it almost made her giggle. As she sniffled and dabbed the last of her tears away, she tried to ease the tension by teasing him a little. "You sure can talk pretty, Mr. Jenkins." She looked straight into his dark eyes, her tone again serious. "Does that mean you forgive me?"

A pained expression filled his face; that she felt like she even had to ask such a thing! "Of course I do, my love!" he said fervently. "Do you forgive me?"

Her bravado deserted her at the pathetic tone of his voice; her face crumpled again as she nodded her head vigorously and held her arms out to him. With a huge sigh he eagerly leaned into them again, and they held each other tightly as Cassandra wept fresh tears into the shoulder of his now-damp suit coat.

He feverishly kissed her neck, blinking back tears of his own. He held onto her as long as he could, hiding his face in her hair and breathing in her scent of honey and lavender. He wanted to remember this moment in every single detail. He needed to tell her about the woman in the photograph, and he feared that this might be the last time Cassandra ever touched him again.


	6. Chapter 6

Cassandra and Jenkins held each other for a long time, the Caretaker comforting his Librarian as best he could while she continued to cry softly. When the pair eventually broke apart, Jenkins laid his hand on her thigh as she mopped the fresh tears from her face. His expression became serious again, almost fearful.

"Cassandra, I want to tell you about the daguerreotype. If you feel up to it now, that is."

She sat up quickly and laid her hand on top of his. "Oh, no, Jenkins, you don't have to! You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, you were right! You have a right to your privacy, I don't have to know everything about you or your past."

"No, I _want_ to tell you, Cassandra," he said, resolute, especially after hearing Cassandra's harrowing story. "This is something you _should_ know, that you _deserve_ to know. If we really are partners, I should be as honest and open with you as you were with me just now. I owe you the truth."

"All right," Cassandra said quietly, moving her hand to his arm and giving him a small smile of encouragement. He had just sat patiently listening to her ugly secret without judging her or running screaming from the room; how could she not do the same for him?

"Tell me." He took a deep breath before looking into her eyes and beginning his story.

"I know you've heard this before and that it sounds like an excuse, but—" He took another deep breath and exhaled slowly. "After being alone for so long, I've grown used to keeping things to myself, keeping secrets. You also know that I've been afraid in the past that if I share too much with you, someday you'll hear something that will…drive you away. I'm afraid this might be that thing." He looked down and clasped her hand in his.

"The girl in the picture-" Jenkins closed his eyes, and Cassandra thought she saw a tear fall into his lap.

"Her name was Jane. Jane Moran. She was my wife."

Cassandra jaw fell open in astonishment. "Your WHAT?!" she yelped.

Jenkins kept his eyes fixed on their joined hands and forced himself to continue, his ancient heart hammering hard against his breastbone.

"She lived in the East End of London. In those days, the East End was where the majority of the poor and newly arrived immigrants lived, crammed into the slums. I was there very late one night, running a rather unsavory errand for the Librarian at the time, Mr. Percival Chelsea. I came upon a man beating a woman in the middle of the street with his walking stick. Of course, I stepped in and ran the brute off. I escorted the woman back to her room, tended to her injuries as best I could. To make a long story short, we began talking. I liked her, she liked me, and I began to call on her whenever I could get away from the Library. Eventually, we fell in love."

Jenkins refused to look at Cassandra as he spoke, his voice low and steady as the long-suppressed memories bubbled to the surface.

"This was in 1849. She was an Irish girl. She came to London to escape the famine that was devastating Ireland at the time. She wasn't educated in the formal sense—the poor woman could barely read and write—but she was _very_ intelligent. She read anything she could get her hands on, no matter how long it took her to get through it. I loaned her books of all kinds, and no matter the subject, she read every single word." Cassandra noticed a lightening of the old Caretaker's mood as he spoke of the Irish woman. The Librarian wondered, with a tiny twinge of jealousy, if he had the same look on his face and the same sound in his voice whenever he spoke of Cassandra to others.

"Oh, the conversations we had! And she was so... _optimistic_. She lived in abject poverty, oftentimes— before I met her and began helping her financially—she would go days without eating, but she was _always_ happy. _Always_ found the good in everyone, in _every_ situation. I think that's what attracted me to her the most. Being around her made _me_ feel optimistic. Made me feel _genuinely_ happy, hopeful, for the first time in a _very_ long time."

The immortal's voice drifted off as he became lost in his memories. The Librarian squeezed his arm softly, bringing him back to the present. "So you fell in love with her?"

"Yes," he said, nodding. "It _was_ something of a whirlwind romance, but yes, we fell in love. Then we became lovers." He looked up, watching her reaction carefully, anxiously. "Then we became parents."

Cassandra's eyes widened and her mouth fell open again in shocked disbelief. "Parents?" she breathed, dazed. He nodded silently, dropping his gaze again.

"Jane told me one day when I called on her. The poor woman was terrified of how I would react; in those days it wasn't uncommon for men to abandon women they had impregnated outside of wedlock, you see. But I was overjoyed by the news—I never expected to have children, a family of my own. I proposed to her on the spot, and she accepted."

He fell silent, smiling gently as he allowed himself the happy memory for a moment. Suddenly his face darkened and he swallowed hard against the lump beginning to form in his throat. "Unfortunately, there were...complications."

"With the pregnancy?" Cassandra asked, dreading the answer. It had to be something awful, otherwise why would Jenkins have hidden the picture away? But his answer surprised her.

"No, not with the pregnancy. With the marriage. The Librarian forbade it."

"The Librarian...?" she repeated, confused. "But how could _he_ forbid you to marry anyone?"

"You forget, my dear," he answered gently, sadly. "I've been there for so long now, I am essentially an artifact of the Library, albeit a living one. Just like any other artifact, I belong to the Library. I am at the disposal of the Librarian, to utilize or not as they see fit, even at the cost of my life."

The current Librarian stared at him, aghast.

"But you're not an object, you're not a piece of property, Jenkins!" Cassandra interrupted hotly. "You're a human being, immortal or not; no one owns you! No one can tell you what you can or can't do, who you can or can't marry! That's like... _slavery_!"

"Perhaps. But think about it for a moment, my dear—if I left the Library, where would I go? What would I do? I can't live in the outside world anymore, the Library is the only place I can live and have any semblance of peace or a normal life. It may not be the kind of freedom you think of when _you_ hear the word, but it _is_ a type of freedom for someone like me." He squeezed her hand as he paused, trying to reassure her.

"Most Librarians have been very kind to me, actually, treated me with the respect and courtesy due to any other person. Some have even called me a friend, I'm pleased to say." Jenkins sighed as he remembered all of the Librarians he had known in his long life.

"Unfortunately, there have been other Librarians who haven't been so kind _._ This Librarian, Mr. Chelsea, was one of those. To him, I _was_ a piece of property. He prided himself on being the very paragon of Victorian rectitude." He shook his head ruefully. "I should've known that he would _never_ suffer such a scandal as to allow 'his' Caretaker to marry, let alone marry a..." Jenkins caught himself, and glanced at Cassandra nervously.

She cocked her head slightly in curiosity. "A what, Jenkins?" she coaxed gently.

He ducked his head and swallowed, then raised it again, almost defiantly. "A prostitute."

Cassandra simply stared at Jenkins, unable to think of a single thing to say in response to such a thing. This story had more twists and turns than any soap opera.

"I know that even today people would look askance at such a match," he hurried on, unapologetic. "But Jane was forced into prostitution; it was either that or starve to death in a gutter, like a dog. She had no other means of supporting herself once she arrived in London. As I said, she was poor, uneducated. She had no special skills. She was alone. Her options were very limited in those days. Just being Irish and Catholic were huge black marks against her. But none of that mattered to me; I loved her." He lowered his gaze, and Cassandra was surprised to see shame on his worn face.

"So I defied the Librarian, and we were married in secret. The daguerreotype was made the same day as a memento. The flower was a symbol of the wish for a happy marriage back in those days. Jane preferred to call it a symbol for our child, a child I had given to her." He paused for a moment as he remembered that long-ago day. The tiny, simple ceremony that morning in the church, then the studio of the daguerreotypist. They had been so happy that day, so full of hope…

"As soon as I could make the arrangements, we were going to leave England. Go to America and start a new life together, like so many other immigrants have done." His voice drifted off into silence as he stared into the past and shook his head again, this time in condemnation.

"But I was a fool to think it would be that simple, to think it was even possible. Somehow—I never learned how—the Librarian learned of our marriage and our plans, and he was _furious_ ," he said quietly, his brown eyes taking on a haunted look. "He followed me to Jane's flat one night without my knowledge. He broke in on us, demanded that I return to the Library where I belonged, and that she go back to the streets where she belonged. We refused."

Cassandra felt the immortal begin to tremble, and suddenly a chill went up her spine.

"Jenkins, what happened?" she timidly asked.

The immortal's voice was flat and dead when he answered.

"He killed her."

Cassandra caught her breath. "No! The Librarian!? How could...?"

"Sometimes the responsibility of the office is too great. It's one of the Library's darker truths," he responded dully. "No matter how excellent a pick a Librarian may be in the beginning, sometimes they simply break under the strain, as happened with Edward Wilde. Mr. Chelsea broke; he became tyrannical and cruel. He demanded unquestioning obedience and loyalty, anything less was not tolerated. For an offense this great, the punishment had to be equally great. He knew he couldn't kill me, so he killed Jane and our child instead. He knew it would hurt me the most. More than anything else he could've done."

"Jenkins..." the horrified young woman breathed.

"Because I refused to do as he ordered," the immortal repeated emotionlessly, not even hearing Cassandra. "Chelsea pulled a revolver from his coat. He shot her."

His face paled at the memory, but his eyes were black with hatred and anger as he remembered what happened next. Cassandra was scarcely able to breathe, sensing that something even more terrible was yet to be told.

"What did _you_ do, Jenkins?" she whispered, full of dread.

He drew a deep breath, then turned his eyes to hers, his voice distant and cool. "I snapped his neck."

Cassandra covered her mouth with her hands in shock. "Oh, God, Jenkins, no..."

"The Guardian had no idea that Chelsea planned to kill anyone. She was sympathetic afterwards when I confessed to her what I had done. She told me that had she known what he was planning, she would've stopped him. But as it was..." He barely shrugged his broad shoulders.

His voice was so low by now that he was barely audible. "I still have dreams about Jane. Sometimes I see her happy, laughing, making plans for us and our child, our new life in America. Sometimes I see her crying and begging Chelsea for pity, for our child's sake, just before he kills her. Sometimes I hear her begging me for help as she lies on the floor, bleeding to death, but of course I can't save her."

Cassandra numbly reached out and put both of her hands on his arm. "I'm sorry, Jenkins," Cassandra whispered, but he still didn't seem to hear her.

"I shouldn't have defied him," he said, bitterness and regret was now in his voice and in his eyes. "I wish now that I hadn't stood up to him. She would have lived. We would've found another way to be together. I wouldn't have killed."

The Librarian climbed onto her knees and knelt on the bed next to Jenkins. She pulled him close and slipped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. "I'm so sorry," she repeated in a whisper.

Jenkins, with a ragged sigh, hugged her back. The pair was quiet for a few minutes, each reflecting on the sad story.

"Do you understand now why I kept this to myself?" he spoke into her hair. "I didn't want you to see that your knight in shining armor is really nothing more than a murderer."

Cassandra pushed away from him and looked into his sorrow-filled eyes. "You are _not_ a murderer," she said fiercely. " _Chelsea's_ the murderer, he had it coming! And I already know that you're not perfect. I don't expect you to be. You were angry and hurting and in shock. You made a mistake, Jenkins, that's all!"

"A mistake!" he said, frustration in his voice. "I'm not talking about burning the breakfast toast, Cassandra! My mistakes cost people their _lives_!" He brushed her face with his hand. "What if I make a mistake that costs you _your_ life?" he whispered shakily.

Cassandra took both of the immortal's hands in hers and looked him steadily in the eyes. "I don't blame you for what happened, Jenkins. Neither does Jane; if she loved you anywhere near as much as I do, I _know_ she doesn't blame you." She wrapped her arms around the old Caretaker and held onto him tightly.

"Wait," Cassandra let go of him as a thought suddenly struck her. "What about your promise to Charlene? Weren't you like, cheating on her or something?" She immediately regretted the question at the look of pain and shame that twisted the knight's face, and her cheeks went dark pink with embarrassment. She clapped her hands over her mouth. "Jenkins, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have asked that! That's none of my business!"

"No, it's all right," he assured her resignedly. "It's a legitimate question. Strictly speaking, yes; I DID break my oath to Charlene, and I dutifully confessed everything to her and begged her for forgiveness. She was very gracious, of course; she told me that since she had never held me to that oath in the first place, I had done nothing wrong in her eyes. I still felt guilty, though."

Jenkins's voice became quiet and dull. "For a very long time afterward, I believed that what happened to Jane was a punishment—for breaking my oath to Charlene, for rebelling against the Librarian, for thinking I could just break from my place in life whenever I wanted. The Library's punishment for my faithlessness and disobedience. I know how that sounds," he quickly said, cutting off an objection from Cassandra. "But when one is grieving, one grasps at any explanation trying to make sense of it." He sighed tiredly as he took one of the woman's hands and squeezed it.

"But you don't still believe any of that _now_ , right?" Cassandra knew him well enough to know that that absolutely was a possibility. Jenkins could be very generous and forgiving—to everyone but himself.

His dropped eyes at her question confirmed her suspicion. "Jenkins!" she chided gently.

He took a deep breath and looked up at her again. "I _try_ not to think that way. But sometimes…it's very hard not to." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, then patted it gently as he spoke again.

"But I learned my lesson. I left the Library only when I had to, and when I did I avoided women as much as possible. I didn't want anyone else to suffer for my mistakes. Every great once in a while I weakened; immortals have physical desires as much as anyone else, I'm afraid. I'm ashamed to admit it, but _those_ women I _did_ use just for sex, by mutual agreement. They were one night stands only. I was too afraid to ever let myself fall in love or become attached to any other woman again. Until I met you, that is. And even then I almost drove you away." He shook his head at himself and looked at her with a sheepish expression.

"Sometimes, deep down inside, I'm _still_ a little bit afraid that the Library will somehow…disapprove. Of us, I mean. That perhaps it doesn't want me to be with you. Perhaps it's my _fate_ to be alone, and one day something will happen to you and…."

The Librarian grabbed his face with both of her hands and turned him to face her sky-blue eyes full of exasperation and indignation.

"Jenkins, stop it! That's all bullshit!" she spat, with almost as much fire in her voice as she had yesterday when she was angry with him. "What kinds of 'lessons' are those?! That's no way to live a life! Why would the Library want you to be unhappy? Even if it did, it's not up to the fucking Library, it's up to _you_ ; it's up to _us!_ I love you, Jenkins, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I don't care if the Library approves or not!" Seeing the utterly shocked look on his face, Cassandra burst into laughter and kissed him softly. She felt him relax and take a deep breath as she rested her forehead against his.

"It's a good thing for you I'm stubborn and don't take 'no' for an answer, huh?" she said.

"I shudder to think where I would be right now if not for that stubborn streak, my dear," he replied quietly, heaving a small sigh. "Though I still think you deserve so much better."

"A much better what?" she quizzed him lightly.

"A much better man."

She gave his nose a quick, affectionate peck. "Why? I already have the best!"

That coaxed a soft chuckle from the knight. She was glad to hear him laugh again, and gave him another hug.

Jenkins returned her embrace and rested his head again lightly against hers for a moment. When he let her go, she caught him trying to stifle a yawn, and Cassandra saw how exhausted he looked. She took one of his hands.

"When was the last time you actually slept?" she asked.

Jenkins looked at her with glazed, brown eyes. He didn't want her to worry about him, not after everything she had been through in the last twenty-four hours, but he wasn't going to lie to her. "The night before last," he admitted finally.

She pulled his hand. "Come on, sweetheart, we can finish this later. You need some sleep. I'll join you; between that big breakfast and all of this angst, I'm feeling sleepy again myself."

She helped him to undress, then stripped off the pajama top that she was wearing, knowing that Jenkins liked to feel her naked body against his skin. They crawled into the bed and Cassandra snuggled against the Caretaker, his arms automatically wrapping themselves around her.

The tired man held her close, his face gently nuzzling her neck. The familiar position soothed him, and she could feel him relax against her. She nestled into a comfortable position, feeling safe and cherished as she lay snug in her lover's strong arms. The young redhead reached back and gently stroked his head. They lay quietly for several minutes, then Cassandra broke the silence.

"How long were you and Jane married?"

"Only a few days," he answered sadly.

"You never knew if the baby was a boy or a girl."

"No."

Cassandra leaned her head against his chest, lightly brushing the old Caretaker's battle-scarred arms. "For what it's worth, Jenkins, I think you were a good husband. I know you would've been a good father, too."

Jenkins took a deep breath and pulled her closer. "Thank you, my love," he whispered hoarsely.

Cassandra felt a large, hot tear fall onto her neck and slide down across her throat.


	7. Chapter 7

After several minutes Cassandra heard Jenkins's breathing become regular and deep as he slipped into an exhausted sleep. She waited a few more minutes, just to make sure. When she was satisfied, she carefully stole out of the Caretaker's arms and out of the bed. After quickly pulling her pajama top on over her head, the Librarian tiptoed to the sitting room, taking care to close the thick wooden door tightly behind her and turned on a small lamp.

She felt slightly foolish doing this, especially since she was wearing only a thin, oversized pajama top and nothing else. But she was willing to do anything it if there was any chance that it might help Jenkins. Cassandra took a deep breath as she gathered her thoughts, then she looked up to the ceiling high overhead in the large, brooding room.

"Ray?" she whispered quietly, addressing the Spirit of the Library. "I don't know if you can hear me or not, but we need to talk." She looked around the dim space uneasily, not sure what she was expecting to happen. A response from the Library of some kind? A sign of some sort? Taking another breath, she forged ahead.

"This whole thing with Jenkins? It needs to stop. It needs to stop _now_! You know it's not Jenkins's fault, what happened to that Librarian—he had it coming! And it's not enough that he had to watch that asshole kill his wife and baby, you let him blame himself for it all this time!" As she thought about Jenkins and everything he'd had to endure at the hands of the Library, her anger and indignation at the injustice of it took over.

"How could you let him suffer like this for so long, after all he's done for you? He's sacrificed so much, Ray, he's given up _everything_ for you! He's had to stand by and watch _everyone_ he's ever loved grow old and die. He's had to watch everyone around him fall in love, raise a family, grow old together, live happily ever after—And THIS is how you repay him? You let Librarians treat him like shit, treat him like he's a piece of Library property? And you let him think it's all he deserves?" The young woman's voice became shaky with emotion.

"Is it really so wrong for him to want a little bit of happiness for himself? I think he could be very happy with me, but even if I'm not the one, then please, Ray—help him to be happy with _someone_! That's all I care about, I just want him to be happy! Please, there _has_ to be something you can do to help him! You're supposed to be this great, wonderful, beneficent thing, yet you just stand by and let Jenkins hurt like this! How could you be so cruel!?"

Cassandra realized she was now almost yelling. Her eyes widened and she slapped her hands over her mouth, terrified that she awoken Jenkins with her outburst. She held her breath and listened carefully, but heard nothing in the heavy silence except the faint creaking of the building as it settled into its ancient foundation and the tiny pops of the wood as it reacted to the humidity in the air.

Exhaling in relief, she dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of her top and turned to leave. She didn't know if this would do any good or not, but at least she tried, and she felt better now that she had spoken her piece.

She crept back into the bedroom and sat slowly on the bed next to Jenkins. Cassandra looked longingly at him as she gently ran her fingers through his mussed hair, then leaned over and whispered into his ear. "You'll _always_ be my knight in shining armor, Galahad." She turned her head and kissed his soft, cool cheek as she continued to play with his hair; a tiny smile pulled at the corners of his lips as he slept. It didn't matter if the Library helped or not. She loved her cranky Caretaker more than anything else in the world, and she was going here to stay right by his side, no matter what.

#####

Unbeknownst to Cassandra Cillian, the Library was actually very fond of Jenkins and loved the gruff old immortal dearly. It was well aware of the many sacrifices Jenkins had made on its behalf, and it was very grateful for his many long centuries of devotion and service.

The Library had been horrified by what Chelsea had done; clearly it made a monstrous mistake in choosing him. It pained the Library to see Jenkins so unhappy, to see him withdraw from life and isolate himself from the world, gradually growing more and more bitter and cynical. It had tried many times to gently entice back into human society, but to no avail. Jenkins's heart was broken over the loss of Jane, and not even the Library could bring her back to him.

But now the Library was overjoyed to see its Caretaker engaging in life again. It was especially thrilled that he was finding new love with the pretty, vivacious young Librarian. Of course, that wasn't the _primary_ reason it had chosen Cassandra to be a Librarian, but it was certainly a welcome and happy bonus. She was just what the jaded knight needed, in the Library's opinion. Unfortunately, with all of the doings of the Library's various enemies over the past few years, it hadn't had any time for matchmaking. Miss Cillian's complaint this evening reminded the Library, however, of just how badly it had mistreated its Caretaker.

It was high time to correct that.

#####

Cassandra woke up early, but when she reached out for Jenkins, his side of the bed was empty and cold. She pushed herself up and called his name, but there was no answer. Cassandra flopped back onto the mattress in frustration and sighed deeply. This made it over a week now since he last shared the large bed with her, not since the night he'd told her about Jane.

He was still loving and affectionate towards her, treated her no differently now than he did before, except that he avoided being alone with her, especially at night. Now he was suddenly busy doing 'important research' or working on this or that experiment that needed his attention. He excused himself by saying that the work kept him up late, and he didn't want to disturb her sleep, so he had taken to sleeping in his lab. But the Librarian was no fool; the immortal clearly was avoiding her. And today she was determined to find out why.

She rose and quickly got dressed. After doing her hair and make-up, she headed out and began to search the Annex for Jenkins. By late morning she still hadn't been able to locate the Caretaker. As she entered the workroom, Jacob Stone looked up from a scatter of history texts on his desk.

"Well, there she is," he greeted her, smiling. "You been in bed all this time?"

Cassandra smiled at the historian's greeting. "Good morning, Jacob. No, I got up hours ago. I've been trying to find Jenkins. Have you seen him this morning? I need to talk to him about something and I can't find him anywhere."

Jacob pointed at the back door. "He, uh, went out a couple hours ago. Said he had some thinkin' to do."

"Where did he go?" the Librarian asked, suddenly worried. "Did he say when he was coming back? What kind of thinking did he say he needed to do?"

"Don't know," Stone growled. "Didn't say." He gave Cassandra a long look and a wink, then tossed his head in the direction of the magic portal. "The door's still set, though. I kinda 'forgot' to shut it down like I said I would after he went through. You know...in case you wanna go do some 'thinkin'' with him or somethin'..." He winked and waggled his eyebrows knowingly.

"Thanks, Jake," she said, rolling her eyes as she flashed him a grin in appreciation. She turned to go through the door, but Stone called out to her.

"Hey, you better take a jacket or somethin'. J had a big coat on when he left, must be pretty chilly where ever it is he went." He grabbed a jacket from the coatrack at the bottom of the staircase, one of Jenkins's. "Here, I reckon he won't mind if you borrow this. Might be a little big on you, but it's better than nuthin'." He helped the young woman into the heavy tweed jacket.

"Thank you, Jacob!" Cassandra chirped and gave him a little peck on his rough cheek before she stepped quickly through the magic portal.

#####

On the other side of the doorway she found herself in a very old, but very elegant Victorian-era cemetery. The late autumn air was crisp, with a slight breeze stirring up the dry, fallen leaves from the ground. The sun was low on the western horizon. A quick calculation in her head based on the angle of the shadows and the time of year told her that was somewhere in Western Europe, eight hours ahead of Portland's time zone. The Librarian had a good idea of where exactly in Europe she was, and why Jenkins had come here. She bundled the oversized jacket around herself tightly against to chilly breeze and began to walk along the paved pathway, keeping her eyes peeled for the Caretaker. It only took her a few minutes of brisk walking before she spied his white head in the distance.

She walked towards him through the dull green grass of the burial ground, trying her best to avoid stepping directly on any graves, but they were packed so closely together that it was nearly impossible to do. After several minutes of carefully picking her way amongst the various headstones, she finally stopped a few yards away from Jenkins. He was half-sitting on a nearby gravestone as he faced another grave, this one marked by a tall, slender obelisk carved from white marble. His hands were in the pockets of his heavy, black wool coat, and his eyes were closed as if in prayer or contemplation. Cassandra waited patiently, not wanting to disturb him.

After a couple of minutes, without opening his eyes, Jenkins pulled his hand from his pocket and silently held it out to Cassandra. She quickly stepped forward and took it, moving to take her place next to the tall man. The young woman looked down at the time-worn obelisk and caught her breath at the sad sight of a small bouquet, two fresh white gardenias with baby's breath that Jenkins had placed on the grave. She was close enough now to read the inscription on the stone: _Jane Moran Jenkins & Infant Jenkins. Died Dec. 25, 1849 A.D. Most Beloved Wife & Child of G. Jenkins. Amor Vincit Omnia._ Cassandra's heart skipped a beat when she saw the date; Jenkins never mentioned that Jane and the baby had been killed on Christmas Day.

"I'm glad you're here, my dear. I was just telling Jane about you. About us, actually," he said quietly, breaking the silence.

"Do you think she would've approved of me?" the Librarian asked. Jenkins chortled softly.

"Oh, yes, she would have most certainly approved of you; you're a good Irish girl, after all, Miss Cillian."

Cassandra squeezed his hand. "What does the Latin part say?" she asked.

"' _Love Conquers All'_. She read it in one of the books I loaned her, and it became one of her favorite sayings." Jenkins wistfully replied, smiling at the memory of his young lover pronouncing the Latin words with her heavy Irish accent.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, staring vacantly at the monument. "We had a conversation once about death and the afterlife. She told me that if she ever died before me, she would be waiting for me in the world after this one. I can't help but to picture her in the afterlife right now, waiting for me. And waiting. And waiting. And waiting." Jenkins's face took on an exaggerated expression of concern as he furrowed his brow.

"I never got around to telling her I was immortal. I imagine that by now she is very, _very_ pissed off at me."

The Librarian burst into giggles at the mental picture she had of the woman in the daguerreotype, dark eyes flashing as she impatiently tapped her foot, wondering what on earth could be holding up Jenkins. She laid her head on the Caretaker's arm affectionately.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you and Jane. I hope you know that I won't try to take her place," she said. "I don't want to do that, Jenkins. I know your heart's big enough for both of us."

"I know you're not, my dear," he replied, reaching over to pat her hand warmly. Just then a nearby church bell began to ring, sounding the hour of five o'clock, and the tall man checked his watch. He stood up and approached Jane's gravestone.

"Goodbye, Jane, my love, and goodbye to you, my little one," he said lovingly. "I'll come back again soon. I love you both; rest quietly." He bent and kissed the cold marble twice, and tears stung her eyes as Cassandra watched the tender display. Jenkins then tuned to the waiting Librarian.

"Tea time," he announced firmly and offered his arm to his Librarian as darkness began to fall over the cemetery. "Would you care to join me, my dear? There's a hotel nearby that lays a sinful table. I believe we have a conversation to finish."


	8. Chapter 8

The hotel was located about two blocks from the cemetery. It was a very small, family-run affair, the hotel itself being a gutted and renovated 250 year-old tenement building. It was a popular place for high tea with locals, but was too far off the beaten path for most tourists. The tiny dining room looked like something straight out of an Agatha Christie mystery. It was intimate, cozy and old-fashioned, a small fire crackling cheerfully in the fireplace. Jenkins and Cassandra sat at a linen-clad table near one of the room's two windows, the small tabletop laden with food and tea.

Cassandra nibbled on a heaping plate of tiny cucumber, watercress and smoked salmon sandwiches with a large piece of chocolate cake for dessert, while Jenkins dug enthusiastically into a shepherd's pie, topped off by a fat scone spread with thick layers of Devonshire cream and apricot jam. Cassandra smiled to herself as she watched him eat; she'd never met anyone before who enjoyed their food so much as Jenkins.

As they ate. she asked Jenkins to tell her some stories about Jane, and he was happy to oblige. She suspected this was the first time since that awful night that he had spoken of Jane to another living person, judging by the way the older man's eyes sparkled as he spoke of his lost love. From the stories he told, Jane was loving and generous, a bit of a romantic, but she was also high-spirited and stubborn, and took no nonsense from anyone; Cassandra thought she would've liked Jane. The Librarian was glad to see Jenkins was so talkative tonight. Hopefully he would stay talkative when she brought up other, more difficult topics later.

After the dishes were cleared away and a fresh pot of tea delivered, Jenkins took a deep breath and regarded the young woman across the table from him. "I owe you an apology," he said contritely. "I've been avoiding you the last few days."

"So I noticed," responded the Librarian, a bit too sharply, as she took a sip of her tea. "Why?"

The immortal stared into his tea cup as he answered, his large hands clasped tightly in front of him on the table. "Because I knew that eventually you would want to be...'intimate', and I wasn't ready for that yet. I needed some time to think things through."

"What things?" she asked, watching his face carefully.

Jenkins lifted his head and looked directly at her, but he couldn't maintain eye contact. He dropped his eyes again. "After you told me about that man, Richard, and how he treated you, I began to think about my own behavior, and I've been worried that, perhaps, I'm guilty of...mistreating you, as well..."

"Jenkins, stop!" Cassandra interrupted him, hissing at him in exasperation. "Just...stop! You are _nothing_ like Richard! I've told you that. You have _never_ 'mistreated' me. If you had, I would've said something. I'm not the same woman now that I was then. If you had ever hurt me or done anything that I didn't like, I would've said so right then and there. I'm perfectly capable of speaking up for myself now, I don't need you to protect me from myself or from you or anyone else!"

The redhead took a large gulp of her tea as she fought to calm herself down. The Caretaker remained silent, his eyes still locked on his cooling tea.

"I'm sorry, Jenkins, I didn't mean to snap at you like that. It's just that..." she stopped herself and took another sip from her cup.

"It's just that...?" the Caretaker gently prompted. Cassandra took a deep breath and unloaded on him.

"I wish you would get out of your own head, sometimes. You spend so much time brooding over things, you get so wrapped up in all of the 'what ifs' and the 'shoulda/woulda/coulda' of things." She fidgeted with the napkin in her lap as she tried to keep the frustration out of her voice.

"And _somehow_ you find a way to blame yourself for _everything_ , whether you actually did something wrong or not. Like with Chelsea. You blame yourself for what HE chose to do. _He_ chose to pull that trigger, not you. Don't let him off the hook by taking his blame, Jenkins. I've never met anyone with such a huge martyr complex before! You're simply not responsible for _every_ bad thing that happens in the world!"

The immortal sat silently for several moments, considering what she had said. Finally, he raised his eyes to Cassandra and began to play nervously with his teaspoon as he began to speak.

"Did you know that even before I was conceived in my mother's womb, it was prophesied that I would be the one to find the Grail?" he asked, his voice hard and tinged with resentment.

"From the day I was born, _every_ aspect of my upbringing was geared towards that one goal. As far back as I can remember, I was told that it was my purpose in this life to find the Grail. I was told constantly that the _only_ way I could do that was by keeping myself pure, virtuous, perfect. And that's what I did. I strove every single day to keep myself pure, virtuous and perfect—in my body, in my speech, my actions, my thinking—in _every_ way. I strove to deny myself _everything_ that brings others pleasure in this life, because for me, they would be distractions and occasions for temptation. To do anything less was weakness, a failure on my part. Imperfection." Jenkins turned his head and looked out the window into the darkness.

"I was taught from the very beginning to search myself every single day and find where I had failed to attain that purity and perfection. I was taught to root it out, to repent and do severe penance for it. No flaw, no imperfection, NO mistake was to be tolerated. I was to be tolerant and forgiving of others, but I had to be merciless with myself." He turned his gaze back to the young woman across the table, his expression now sad and bewildered, and he sighed.

"And they were right. I WAS the only one in the entire world who was worthy enough—who was pure enough, virtuous enough, perfect enough—to find the Grail. I became 'The Pure Knight of Virtue', the greatest knight that ever was. But what does a pure knight of virtue do with the rest of his life after he's fulfilled his sole purpose?"

He drained his tea cup and poured more tea into it from the pot, stirred in a cube of sugar and some milk. Cassandra watched him quietly, letting him speak when he was comfortable. He stared into the cup, his voice faint as he continued.

"I was never taught any other way to be. Any time I slip, make a mistake, I'm racked with guilt until I can make it right again. It's the only way I know, Cassandra. I know it frustrates you; it frustrates me, too."

He pointed to his heart as his pain-filled eyes met hers. "I listened to my heart once, I gave in to it. And I was happy, _truly happy_ for those few months. There's a part of me that wants to live the rest of my life here. I _know_ that that's the only way I'll ever be happy. But—" He moved his hand to point to his head, frustration and anger now mixing with the pain in his eyes.

"THIS tells me every day that that was a failure, and because of that failure on my part, three people died, needlessly." Tears began to glisten in the ancient knight's dark brown eyes.

"I look at you, Cassandra, and my heart tells me to seize this opportunity with both hands, to love you, to be happy with you for as long as I can. But my head tells me that if I do, if I'm weak and give in to my heart, only pain and disaster will come of it. And _you'll_ be the one to pay the price for _my_ failure." He blinked back his unshed tears as he regained control of his emotions.

"I love you so much, Cassandra, too much to let that happen. I can't let that happen."

Cassandra's heart suddenly turned to ice in her chest. "What are you saying, Jenkins?" she whispered, barely able to say the words. "Are you saying you want to...break up with me?"

Jenkins looked into her wide, pale eyes, his own filled again with pain and confusion, and he imperceptibly shook his head.

"I don't know," he whispered back helplessly. "I don't want to, Cassandra, but I don't you to get hurt, or worse..."

The Librarian stared at him in disbelief, stunned by what she was hearing. She tightly closed her eyes for a moment as she struggled to control her own emotions now. When she opened them again, she looked directly into his.

"You listen to me, Galahad Jenkins," she said, her voice low and brooking no argument as she carefully enunciated her words.

"You don't get to just make a decision like that all by yourself." Jenkins opened his mouth to protest, but she her hand up as she glared at him, her eyes blazing now. He obediently closed his mouth again and listened in silence.

"I'm half of this couple, I get to have a say in whether or not it gets broken up, whether you like it or not. Maybe _you're_ ready to give up on yourself and just let yourself live out the rest of your life miserable and alone, but I'm NOT. You don't get to sit over there and decide for me which relationships are good for me and which ones aren't. THAT'S being like Rich!"

Jenkins dropped his eyes and squirmed uncomfortably at her words, particularly the last ones. Suddenly, out of patience with the whole situation, she waved her hands animatedly in front of her in a gesture of dismissal.

"You know what, just forget it. I love you, Jenkins," she said shortly as she slipped into her jacket and stood up from the table. "I don't know how else I can say it to convince you that I'm telling you the truth. I love you, and I was willing to take the risk of being with you. And if, by some weird twist of fate or whatever, I did end up paying the 'price' for loving you, then so be it. Because you know what else? I happen to think you're worth dying for."

She angrily adjusted her jacket and shoved her hands into the pockets. "But I'm done trying to make you believe me. So you go 'think' about it some more, you go talk yourself out of the best damn thing that's come into your life since 1849. I didn't let doctors cut into my brain for hours just to spend the rest of my life cooped up _your_ head. I'm choosing now to go out now and LIVE my life. I don't give a rat's ass what YOU do anymore."

Before he could say a word, Cassandra turned on her heel and left the dining room without a glance backward. As he stared after her, Jenkins heard the front entrance of the hotel open and slam shut again as the redhead left him sitting in the hotel.

A few seconds later, a young waitress with black hair and pale skin hurried over and began to slowly clear away the tea things. "You'd best go after her," she said quietly in a thick Irish accent. Jenkins turned to her, blinking in confusion.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You'd best go after her. You can't be wantin' true love to slip through your fingers _that_ easily after so long, now?" The Caretaker stared at her, confounded, and she chuckled softly. "I've been watchin' the two of you all evenin', 'tis plain as the nose on your face how much you want to be with her."

"Not that it's really any of your concern, madam, but it's somewhat more complicated than you think," he said snarkily, embarrassed that his dressing down by Cassandra had been overheard.

"Nonsense. T'ings are only as complicated as you make 'em. If two people love each other, they should be together, no matter what, simple as that. Any so-called 'complications' that come up, love'll take care of them, one way or the other. As the old sayin' goes, 'love conquers all'."

Jenkins whipped his head up to stare at the waitress. "What did you just say?"

The waitress smiled secretively. "You heard what I said well enough. Now, off with you! It's not a good part of town for a pretty young lady to be walkin' about on her own. You don't want her get mugged, do you now?"

Jenkins's face turned to chalk at her words, and he shot up clumsily from the table, nearly turning it over. He began to frantically dig into his pocket for money. "How much is the bill, Miss...?" he asked sharply.

The dark-haired Irishwoman smiled again as she reached out and gently held his hand. She looked directly into the old man's eyes; his blood turned to ice water as her serious black eyes seemed to look into his very soul.

"Forget the tea," she said urgently. "Go after your young woman and make things right with her again. You _know_ what you have to do. Now...Shoo!" With that, the waitress swept up the dishes from the table and disappeared as she exited the dining room turned towards the kitchen.

Jenkins stood and stared after the woman, scarcely breathing.

A teacup clattered loudly at a nearby table as a patron set it back on its saucer, breaking the spell and bringing the immortal's attention back to the matter at hand. Jenkins shook his head, and rubbed his face with both hands, trying to rid himself of his confusion. The waitress was right, he had to go after Cassandra. Now.


	9. Chapter 9

Jenkins hurried along the dark, quiet street that eventually wound past the cemetery gates, his long legs covering the distance quickly, his quick breaths visible in the cold night air. He guessed that Cassandra would probably head back to Portland, which meant she would head back to the last location of the back door, inside the cemetery.

As he searched for Cassandra, he reprimanded himself harshly for his stupidity. He kept replaying their conversation in his mind as he walked rapidly along the sidewalk, and he was horrified by what he heard. He couldn't believe he'd actually said those things, that he had even _hinted_ at ending their relationship. He couldn't blame Cassandra for running out of patience with him and his damnable waffling. He was, indeed, his own worst enemy, at least where affairs of the heart were concerned. He took _some_ comfort in the fact that _this_ time he realized his mistake before it was too late, and he was being smart enough to go after Cassandra. _At least I'm making progress_ , he thought sarcastically.

Roughly one block away from the hotel, he saw ahead of him, to his relief, the figure of Cassandra Cillian by the light of a streetlamp, trotting quickly and shivering against the cold. Jenkins broke into a run.

"Cassandra!" he called out to her. She stopped and turned, startled at hearing her name, but when she saw who it was she turned and ran back to meet him. They threw themselves into each other's arms. Jenkins, in his elation, lifted the petite Librarian off of the ground and swung her around as she squealed in surprise and relief of her own. He held her tightly and showered kisses onto the side of her face and head. Cassandra burst into tears as he set her feet back on the ground. He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, the taste of her tears on her lips causing him to sigh softly into her mouth. He ended the kiss and held her tightly to his chest.

"I'm sorry, Cassandra," he murmured into her hair. "Forget all of those foolish things I just said to you!" He closed his eyes and slowly ran one hand up and down her back as he held her.

"I want you, Cassandra," he whispered hoarsely into her ear. "I want to be happy with you. I want you in my life, for as long as you'll have me. Come back with me to the hotel, my love. I'll get us a room. We can talk..."

"All right," she whispered back, tightening her arms around him. "But let's talk later. There's something else I need from you right now."

#####

They quickly made their way back to the hotel. In a matter of minutes they had a room key and were on their way to the third floor of the old hotel. As soon as they were inside of the large, open, floridly-decorated room, Jenkins flipped on the light and shrugged out of his overcoat, letting it fall onto the floor in a heap. He pulled Cassandra to himself and kissed her hard, his tongue slipping between her lips and the tip tickling the roof of her mouth, his hands peeling the tweed jacket from the Librarian's shoulders and tossing it aside.

He pushed her away gently so he could look at her. "Take off your clothes," he ordered her huskily.

As the immortal leaned back against the door and watched, Cassandra slowly undressed for him, her discarded clothes dropped carelessly onto the floor in a messy pile. As soon as she was completely free of clothing, Jenkins stepped forward and lightly brushed his hands along her arms, scarcely breathing as he took in the sight of her soft, smooth body.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his eyes immediately black and hungry with want. This was the longest they had gone without sex, and he was now realizing how much he missed the feel of her naked body against his. He wanted to throw her on the bed and ravish her, but he restrained himself, instead relishing the sensation of lust burning in his belly and spreading throughout his body. He stepped closer and began to barely brush the sides of her body with his fingers, sending little shivers through her, raising goose bumps on her flesh and bringing her nipples to firm, tempting points.

As he continued to lightly stroke her skin, Cassandra gently slipped the Caretaker's suit coat from his broad shoulders, letting the expensive garment drop to the floor behind him. Playfully, she stood on her toes and caught the end of his pale blue bow tie in her teeth, tugging the knot out and pulling it free of his collar. She slipped the suspenders from his shoulders, and as she looked directly into his eyes, a small smile of anticipation on her lips, she slowly undid the buttons of the fine cotton shirt he was wearing. It, too, ended up on the floor, quickly followed by his undershirt.

The Librarian leaned forward and brushed her open lips and her breasts against the bare skin of his chest, peppering Jenkins with soft kisses as her nails lightly raked his back, sides and arms. She lingered momentarily over each of his nipples, kissing each one and giving it a flick or two with the tip of her tongue. He inhaled sharply, and she could feel his manhood stir against her leg through the wool of his trousers.

Cassandra knelt in front of Jenkins and deliberately untied and removed his shoes, then his socks. Remaining on her knees, she reached up and unfastened his trousers and tugged them down, along with his underwear. The young woman ran her hands up his long, lean legs and over his buttocks; as she did she heard him sigh softly and his hands entangled themselves gently in her long, russet-colored hair. She glanced upward and saw that he was watching her closely. She turned her head and kissed the inside one thigh and then the other; his fingers tightened around handfuls of her hair as he took a deep breath. A soft moan escaped him as he exhaled.

The redhead began to nuzzle his manhood teasingly, very lightly nipping the sensitive skin of his testicles and along the shaft of his member. He immediately grew hard and his moaning grew louder. Cassandra giggled at the sight.

"Looks like Little Jenkins is ready to go!" she teased. She playfully licked his erection, drawing a low, guttural sound from the immortal. Suddenly she slipped the tip of his manhood into her mouth and swirled her tongue around the smooth, silky skin.

"No!" Jenkins rasped. "Stop! Stand up."

Cassandra obeyed, and as soon as she got to her feet he swept her up into his arms again and kissed her passionately.

"'Little Jenkins' is going to have to wait his turn," the Caretaker growled deeply, nuzzling her throat. "Ladies first."

He carried her to the large bed and laid her on top of the bedspread, climbing in after her and kneeling on all fours over her. He bent to kiss her, first her mouth, then a trail of kisses interspersed with light nips down her throat, along her collarbone and back up to her ear. He sucked on her earlobe briefly and then whispered into her ear.

"You'll tell me if I'm too rough?" he asked, slightly anxious. Cassandra smiled; she couldn't help but be touched by his concern for her, however misplaced. "Yes, I promise," she whispered back to him.

With a lopsided grin, he began moving down her body, kissing her and lightly biting the tender skin along her sides and stomach. He lingered at her breasts, licking them slowly, leisurely sucking on each nipple, enjoying immensely the feel of the firm little buds on his tongue and the whimpers of pleasure he coaxed from his young lover.

After a few minutes of this delicious torture, Cassandra's desire for more from Jenkins overpowered her. She ran her fingers into his white mane of hair and pulled it gently.

"Lower!" she gasped, longing to feel his mouth and tongue on her sex. He reluctantly gave the nipple he was enjoying a final kiss, then moved further down, kissing her stomach, stopping to tickle her belly button with the tip of his inquisitive tongue. Cassandra giggled and squirmed, drawing a low-throated chuckle from the immortal.

He climbed off of the bed and grasped Cassandra's ankles, and with one smooth motion drew her body to the edge of the mattress. He trailed open-mouthed kisses along the inside of one pale thigh and then the other, barely brushing against her wet sex tantalizingly as he moved from one thigh to the other. She groaned loudly in frustration.

"Jenkins, please!" she begged breathlessly. "Don't tease me! Not tonight!"

He ran his hands over the soft curves of her thighs and hips, savoring the little shiver it created in Cassandra. He casually slipped a finger into the warm, swollen folds in front of him, watching her reactions closely. She cried out and her hands clutched at the thick bedspread. Her breathing became quick and ragged as he teased her from within. "Jenkins!" she gasped, the tone pleading.

"Yes, my love?" he replied quietly, his heart pounding in his chest excitedly. He removed his finger and leaned forward, lightly kissing her nether lips. The Librarian again cried out, her back arching slightly in response.

"More!" she gasped, almost whining.

Without another word Jenkins grasped her hips tightly to hold her in place, then kissed her again, hard and with abandon, his tongue exploring every inch of her. He soon found the engorged pearl of her clit and began to lick and suck on it eagerly. Cassandra's head thrashed back and forth in blissful agony as she wailed his name. While he relentlessly worked on her, Jenkins slipped his finger back into her core and stroked the sweet spot inside. He could feel the woman's climax building quickly, and prayed he could hold himself back; her cries and writhing were almost enough to send him over the edge then and there.

He slipped a second finger into her began to suck her clit just a bit harder, groaning in pleasure as he felt her orgasm strike her hard. She shrieked his name, "Galahad!", and went limp with the release, gasping for breath.

Jenkins immediately got into the bed. "Get up!" he ordered her brusquely.

She dazedly rolled over and sat up. The knight grabbed her around her waist and positioned her on her knees, her hands against the headboard. He then positioned himself behind her, his long body resting gently against her back as he placed his hands over hers. He entered her, and began thrusting slowly, his hands clutching hers as he rocked against her. He kissed her neck and shoulders, softly at first as he whispered endearments to her, then harder as his pace quickened, leaving small, pale purple marks in his wake. As his hunger for her burned hotter within him, he began biting her, just hard enough to cause her to gasp in surprise and whimper softly at the pain. The sound drove him wild with desire, and he was soon ramming into her as hard as he could.

Cassandra's already overstimulated clit quickly dragged her over the edge into another orgasm, her sex pulsating gently against Jenkins's cock maddeningly, but he stopped thrusting and withdrew from her. He flipped her over onto her back and roughly spread her legs, then reentered her and resumed his thrusting, slower now, and loudly grunting like a beast. After a few seconds Jenkins placed one hand against her face and looked into her eyes.

"Cassandra!" he panted breathlessly. "Do you remember the first time we made love? When you asked me to look into your eyes?"

"Yes," she whispered hoarsely, her hands grasping his biceps tightly.

"I'm close; look into my eyes?" he pleaded. Cassandra nodded and cupped his face between her hands as he began thrusting again, as hard as he could now. She locked her gaze with the immortal's as he moved above her. Jenkins stared into her clear blue eyes, his brown ones feverish with desperation and desire.

"I love you," he panted, staring deeply into her, as though he was speaking directly to her soul. "I love you so much. My heart is yours, Cassandra. I want to be with you. I want to be with you forever. Say you'll have me? _Please_ say you'll have me?"

"Of course I will, Galahad," she whispered huskily, almost moved to tears by the intimacy of the moment. "You're my knight in shining armor, you always will be."

As if on cue, the Caretaker's climax washed over him like a tidal wave. He could hold her gaze for only a second before he threw his head back and half-shouted, half-groaned her name as his release came. He collapsed on top of her for a few moments, breathing hard. As soon as he could think straight again he rolled off of her and stretched out next to the young woman, wrapped his arms around her and began nuzzling her neck as he languished in his post-orgasmic haze.

Cassandra stroked his long arms and cuddled into his body as closely as she could. The room was chilly, though. and she was beginning to shiver. "I hate to break this up, but can we get under the covers, sweetheart?" she asked softly.

The pair quickly slid beneath the blankets and immediately went back into each other's arms. As the cold sheets slowly warmed up, Cassandra snuggled against her man, breathing in his musk, his heart beat soothing and reassuring.

"Do you remember when you said that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me?" he rumbled quietly into her hair. "Did you mean that?"

"Every single word," she replied contentedly. "Did you mean all of those things you just said to me?"

"Every single word," he said.

 _You should marry her, then._

The thought came to Jenkins from out of nowhere. It frightened him initially, but almost instantly the feeling of fear gave way to a feeling of peace, almost joy. The Caretaker tucked the thought away for now; the time for that wasn't right yet. He had a lot of work to do on himself first. He wanted Cassandra to have the best possible man he could give her.

He kissed her tawny head affectionately, the fingers of one hand gently brushing the Librarian's throat. "I'm sorry for all of the grief I've caused you lately," he murmured. "I promise to be a good boy from now on, though. Less head, more heart."

Cassandra smiled against his chest. "So you've made your peace with all of this, then? With us, I mean? No lingering doubts?"

There was a small sigh from the immortal, and the woman closed her eyes in frustration. What could possibly be bothering him now?

"I am still a little worried about how the Library is going to take all of this," he admitted. She took a deep breath.

"If the Library expects you to do whatever a Librarian tells you, well...I'M a Librarian, so...if I order you to fall madly in love with me and to make passionate, hot, crazy monkey love to me on demand, well, then the Library can't hold you responsible, right?"

"Hmmm," he considered thoughtfully. "There IS precedence for that line of reasoning..."

Cassandra sat up quickly and looked down at the Caretaker, her eyes wide and mouth open.

"Wait. What do you mean 'precedence'? Have you slept with _other_ Librarians?!"

Jenkins suddenly looked uncomfortable, but he forced himself to answer her honestly.

"Only a handful of times. They were purely physical relationships, nothing romantic or long-term, and most of them were completely consensual." Cassandra's heart sank as her ears picked out the one word in his incredible sentence.

"'Most'?" she probed gently.

"There was only one Librarian who ever forced me. I had to...'service' him on two or three occasions. Orally."

"Jenkins! Why didn't tell me about this before?"

"It's not exactly something one brags about," he responded dourly. "As I said, it only happened a couple of times, I just forced myself to put it behind me."

"Who was it?" she demanded. Suddenly it came to her in a flash. " _Chelsea_!"

Jenkins couldn't look her in the eyes, and she knew she was right. Cassandra lay down again next to him and put her arms around him comfortingly.

"I thought he was supposed to be the height of Victorian rectitude?" she spat disgustedly.

"You should know by now, Cassandra, that it's usually the most self-righteous people who have the most salacious secrets."

"That's awful! What a sick, twisted, vile...ICKY little creep! I hope there's a _very_ special place in Hell for that man!" she said angrily.

Jenkins chuckled and gave her a hug. "Hell hath no fury like Cassandra Cillian," he teased her, lightly kissing her forehead.

"I meant what I said, Cassandra," he said quietly, becoming serious again. "I'm going to work on thinking with my heart more than with my head. I promise you that. I beg you to be patient with me, though; I've been thinking one way for over 1,500 years—I can't change that overnight."

She laughed quietly. "Deal. No more flying off the handle at you and storming off," she responded contritely. "I guess I need to work on my temper, huh? Learn to do all of my fighting calmly and coolly, like a civilized person." She gave him a peck on his cheek.

"I'm really glad you came after me this last time," she continued sincerely. "I didn't remember until after I got outside that I had no idea where I was going. And I certainly couldn't go back inside the hotel and eat crow."

"Heaven forbid!"

She lightly slapped his arm. "I just picked a direction and started walking. By the time you found me I was starting to get scared that I was lost."

"We have the dining room waitress downstairs to thank for that, my dear," Jenkins said, yawning loudly. "She was the one who all but shoved me out the door. She told me not to let you get away. That you are my 'true love'."

"Sounds like a very smart woman," said Cassandra faintly, echoing the Caretaker's yawn. "We should find her tomorrow and say thank you."

"Indeed," mumbled Jenkins. Cassandra didn't hear him, however. She was asleep, her true love right behind her.


	10. Chapter 10

The Librarian and the Caretaker sauntered arm in arm from the elevator to the front desk of the hotel the next morning to settle their bill before heading back to the Annex. The pair looked somewhat bedraggled this morning, in their rumpled clothes and finger-combed hair, but the happiness they radiated more than made up for the lack of fresh clothes and toiletries. The desk clerk, an elderly, matronly woman, sized the pair up in a glance; she'd been in the hotel business long enough to know lovers when she saw them. She smiled to herself as she tabulated the total and prepared their receipt. As they waited on her, Cassandra suddenly remembered something.

"Excuse me," she asked the clerk. "Is there any way we could speak to the waitress who worked in the dining room last night, or leave a message for her, please?"

"The waitress, miss?" the woman repeated uncertainly, pulling her glasses off as she looked up from her work. "We haven't any waitresses in the dining room, miss, only Kevin. He's my grandson, you know. Such a lovely boy..."

"But it _was_ a woman who cleared away our table after tea last night," Jenkins interrupted gently. "A young Irish girl, black hair, dark eyes, rather pale? She gave me some very good advice last night, and I just wanted to thank her."

The clerk froze for a moment, then slowly laid her glasses and pen on the counter in front of her. "An Irish girl, you say?" she asked quietly.

Jenkins and Cassandra exchanged a quick glance. "Yes," affirmed the young woman apprehensively. "Doesn't she work here?"

The clerk leaned forward, looking at them with serious green eyes. "The two of you are lovers. And you were having a bit of a tiff last night, weren't you? Even thinking of going your separate ways?" The pair exchanged another guilty glance.

A large smile spread over the older woman's wrinkled face. "Ah! I thought so! You've seen The Irish Lady! How wonderful for you!" she exclaimed happily, her eyes filled with delight.

"The Irish Lady?" echoed Cassandra, completely confused. Jenkins remained silent, but his expression communicated the same feeling of confusion.

" _Yes_ , dear! That's what we call her, anyway. She's our resident spirit!" Seeing the looks of utter bewilderment on the faces of the odd pair in front of her, she hurried to explain.

"The Irish Lady is the spirit of a young woman who died in this very building over 150 years ago," she began, clearly enjoying the role of storyteller.

"She was very poor, but very pretty, and she had a heart of gold. She caught the eye of a handsome, wealthy, young gentleman who fell madly in love with her, in spite of the difference in their social standings, and they were married. But another man, a wicked creature he was, had wanted her for himself. He was so jealous and angry at having lost her to someone else that he came here—on _Christmas Day_ , no less!—and shot the poor girl to death, murdered her right in front of her new husband!" She shook her head sadly at the tragic turn of events so many years ago.

"Well," she continued conspiratorially. "The young husband was grief-stricken, of course; who wouldn't be? In a fit of rage he seized that beastly man by the throat and broke his neck, right there on the spot! And who could blame him, the poor boy?"

Cassandra glanced at Jenkins. He was absolutely still, his face white and stony as he listened to the tale.

"What happened, then?" she asked the old woman. The clerk was happy to tell her.

"Well! The poor young gentleman was so heartbroken over losing his true love and so guilt-stricken over having killed the other man, he went directly to Blackfriars Bridge and threw himself into the Thames!" She again shook her gray head sadly.

"Not many people see The Irish Lady," she continued. "It's said that because she lost her own true love, she only appears to couples who are in danger of losing theirs. She wants them to have the same love in their lives that she had stolen from her so cruelly, you see. She helps them get back together again, and it's said that anyone who's been matched by The Irish Lady are especially blessed with happiness! Isn't that a lovely story?" The clerk reached out and patted Cassandra's hand fondly.

"You and your 'young' gentleman, here, miss," she nodded shyly at the still-silent Jenkins. "You're _sure_ to have a happy future together!" She reached over to a rack of brochures sitting on the end of the counter and plucked one out. She handed it to the young Librarian.

"Here, love, take this with you. It has the whole story in it, and some lovely photos. Now, let me just finish tallying this bill up for you, I'm sure you're both anxious to be on your way..."

They paid their bill and left the hotel. Jenkins still hadn't said a word. They crossed to the other side of the street and suddenly the Caretaker stopped. "Cassandra, wait."

He turned and looked at the area all around him, especially at the facade of the hotel building, complete bafflement on his face.

"Everything's different," he said plaintively, his voice quavering. "I never went back to Jane's tenement after that night, and nothing here is as I remember it. Even the streets are different. This can't be the same place. It can't have been Jane!"

Cassandra pulled the brochure from her pocket and quickly flipped through it. "Here," she said, holding out the pamphlet. "Here's an old picture of the hotel building, from the 1800's."

He snatched the brochure from her and looked closely at the photograph. "That's her tenement," he whispered. Feeling his knees beginning to weaken, he dropped and sat heavily on the curb. Cassandra immediately joined him, putting her arm protectively around his broad shoulders.

"This area was hit pretty hard during World War II; the government tore a lot of the old neighborhoods down and rebuilt them after the war. That's probably what happened here; most of these buildings don't look very old to me, now that I look at them. What I wonder is why the story she told us so different from yours?"

"Stories always change if they're told enough times. Details get changed, embroidered, left out, added..." Jenkins's voice was miserable.

"Why didn't I recognize her?" he asked pitifully. "She looked _nothing_ like I remember; why couldn't I recognize her?"

Cassandra took his hand in hers. "I know why," she whispered, fixing her gaze on his face. "It wasn't Jane."

He returned her gaze, puzzled. "But who else could it have been, Cassandra?" he said dismissively.

"Your daughter."

He stared at the young Librarian as though she had just sprouted a second head. "My...what...?"

She turned to face him and took both his hands in hers. "Your daughter. Listen! The baby Jane was carrying—it was a girl. You never got to see her, that's why you didn't recognize her. It makes perfect sense!"

The stunned immortal sat on the curb motionless as he tried to process Cassandra's words. His _daughter_? Could it _really_ have been his child? The infant that had brought such joy to his jaded old heart, who'd been snatched away before he'd even had a chance to hold her in his arms? It _would_ explain why he hadn't recognized her. He searched the image of her that was burned into his memory from the night before, and then he could see it: The girl favored Jane in appearance, especially in the eyes, but he could see himself in her, too. Cassandra was right. His face took on an expression of grief as he buried it in his hands.

"Jenkins, why are you sad?" asked the redhead in alarm. "I'd think you would be happy to have seen her, even for just a few minutes!"

"How can I be happy when her spirit isn't at peace?" he demanded, on the verge of tears. "All these years I thought her soul had crossed into the next world with Jane, and now I find out that's not the case at all! She's trapped here, haunting the place where she was murdered!" He looked up helplessly into the pale blue morning sky and closed his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, my little one!" he said, grief-stricken. "I'm so sorry to have done this to you!"

"Jenkins, no! You didn't do this!" she tried to console him. She ran a hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him. A thought suddenly came to her.

"Jenkins, wait!" she said. "The waitress—Was she upset?"

He looked back at the Librarian. "Upset?"

"Was she crying, or really, really sad, or anything like that?

The Caretaker shook his head slowly, confused. "No," he said faintly. "Nothing like that. She was concerned that I hadn't gone after you right away when you left, but..." His expression changed, became lighter as he remembered the meeting the night before.

"In fact, she even scolded me in a teasing way, like Jane used to do," he said. He looked at Cassandra. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that she's here because she _wants_ to be here, not because she _has_ to be here," the woman said, smiling. "She's spending her afterlife helping people!"

Jenkins stared at the Librarian blankly. "What?"

"Think about it. Remember what the clerk said? The Irish Lady helps people to be with their true loves. She wants them to have the kind of love that you had with her mother. And you said yourself, Jane always found the best in every situation, why would death be any different for her? Maybe Jane passed that trait on to your daughter?" She squeezed the old knight's hand tightly.

"And it sounds like it made her happy to help _you_ find true love again," she added gently, wrapping her arms around him and leaning her head against his shoulder.

Jenkins was quiet for several minutes as he digested all of this. Eventually he turned his head to look at Cassandra.

"Do you really think that's true?" he asked. The hope in his voice almost brought tears to Cassandra's eyes.

"I do, absolutely," she said truthfully, bringing his hand up to kiss the back of it. "There's lots of examples of spirits who help people. I'm sure you've heard lots of those stories, too.. I don't think she's suffering or unhappy at all."

The immortal's eyes filled with tears, but he manfully blinked them back. He wrapped his arms around the young woman and hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Cassandra," he murmured, his voice full of emotion. "I needed that, very much."

The Librarian leaned over and kissed him softly. He returned her kiss and leaned his forehead against hers tenderly.

"Let's go home," he said.

#####

After the pair entered the cemetery gates on their way to the back door, Jenkins asked Cassandra for a few minutes alone at Jane's grave. She waited patiently for him on the main driveway while the Caretaker stood before the white stone marker, his head bowed. Cassandra wasn't able to hear anything he said, but it had clearly been heartfelt, judging from the redness of his eyes when he rejoined her. He smiled wanly as she took his arm and led him to the back door.

They crossed the threshold together and entered the Annex workroom halfway around the world from London. It was currently four o'clock in the morning in Portland, and Jenkins was privately glad that none of the others were in the Annex yet; it had been a long couple of weeks, and an especially emotional 24 hours, and he just wasn't in the mood right now to deal with the rowdy group of youngsters.

He and Cassandra headed to his suite of rooms for a hot shower and a change of clothes. He held the heavy door to the bedroom open for Cassandra, then he entered behind her and turned on the lights. Almost immediately Cassandra jumped backward and shrieked.

"JENKINS!"

He rushed to her side at once. "Cassandra, what's wrong? What is it?"

The Librarian pointed to one end of the room. "Where did that come from?" she whispered.

He turned and looked to where she was pointing. In the far wall of the bedroom, directly opposite the door leading to his sitting room, there was now a large door where there had never been a door before. Jenkins knit his brows together and approached the strange door, cautiously trying the knob. It was unlocked, so he opened the door and pushed it carefully open. He gasped at the sight within.

Jenkins entered the room slowly, Cassandra right behind him. She looked around in amazement: It was a whole new suite of rooms, a sitting room and a dressing room, exact twins to Jenkins's own suite on the other side of the bedroom. Except that where Jenkins's rooms were dark, brooding and very masculine, these rooms were light and airy, beautifully decorated in a feminine fashion, with soft colors, floral prints, fresh flowers and candles. There was even an indoor water feature.

"Jenkins, what does this mean? Where did they come from?" she whispered, afraid to speak any louder. He didn't answer right away, and when she looked over at him, she was alarmed to see him standing stock still, his hand over his mouth, tears filling his eyes.

"Jenkins?!" she said, frightened. "What's wrong? What does this mean?"

He turned to face her, extended his arm to indicate the room, his voice low and soft. "This is yours."

She looked at him, confused. "Mine? I don't understand..."

"The Library, it's added these rooms, just for you. These rooms are yours," he said faintly.

"But why would the Library do that?" she asked. It took Jenkins several moments to get his emotions under control before he could answer her.

"It's inviting you to move into the Annex. With me. As a couple." He began to tremble, and Cassandra, alarmed, ran to him. He looked down into her eyes.

"Don't you see, Cassandra?" he said, his voice so choked with emotion that he could barely get the words out. "The Library...it's giving us its blessing!" He suddenly threw his arms around the young Librarian and nearly crushed her as he hugged her tightly to himself. He fought back sobs as they stood together in the middle of the new room.

"I don't have to be afraid anymore," he gasped, almost as if he was talking to himself. "I don't have to be afraid of losing you! I don't have to be afraid anymore! I don't have to be afraid..." Jenkins broke down and began sobbing uncontrollably, feeling as if a crushing, ponderous weight had at last been lifted from his soul.

Cassandra, finally understanding his reaction, held him as he wept, tears of happiness for her lover coming to her own eyes. His outburst was over quickly, and he soon released her. He dug his handkerchief out of his trousers and wiped his face with it, then began straightening and fussing with his clothes as he sought to regain his dignity.

"Well," he huffed at last, offering his young love an embarrassed smile. "My apologies, my dear. That was a rather mawkish display, wasn't it?"

"I think you're entitled," she laughed. "First your daughter plays matchmaker for us, and now the Library moves us in together—everything seems to be coming up Jenkins today!"

"No, everything's coming up Jenkins _and Cassandra_ ," he corrected her, slipping his arms around her. He was suddenly giddy with relief and happiness, and without warning he picked her up and swung her around as he did on the street in London, making the Librarian squeal again.

'I think this calls for a celebration!" he said excitedly. "What would like to do, my love? Anything you want, just name it!"

Cassandra was amazed at the transformation that had come over the immortal. It was the first time she had ever seen him like this... _truly_ happy. It made her so happy for him that she wanted to cry. She forced herself to keep it together though; there had been enough tears already today. She focused instead on answering his question.

"Well," she said thoughtfully. "I've always wanted to see Barcelona—would that be okay with you?"

"Ahhhh! Barcelona!" he sighed, dramatically laying his hand on his heart. "The most beautiful, romantic city in all the world! And they have that _wonderful_ crema catalana, one my most favorite desserts, too! An _excellent_ choice, my love!" Cassandra giggled; she had the feeling that if she said she wanted to go to downtown Detroit, Jenkins would've had the same reaction.

The tall Caretaker took her hands in his and began to waltz her slowly around the room.

"Let's get ourselves tidied up first," he began happily. "Then we'll pack some things and be off. We'll be strolling down the Ramblas and snacking on tapas and _vino tinto_ within two hours!" He stopped dancing with the laughing Librarian and placed a finger beneath her chin, bent down to nuzzle her silky cheek.

"Be sure to pack something sinful to wear at dinner tonight, my dear," he purred seductively. "And make sure it's something that can be removed quickly," he whispered into her ear before kissing her, leisurely and deeply as the Librarian's arms slipped around his waist.

"On second thought," he said rumbled quietly, smiling as he slid his strong hands underneath Cassandra's blouse and then her bra. "Let's make it three or four hours before we find ourselves strolling down the Ramblas..."


End file.
